Trial and TribulationDevils Never Cry
by Trinity Archangel
Summary: Visit Dante's death, resurrection and how he copes with the changes and responsibility of being a saviour and a sufferer in a very different world than he left behind.
1. Default Chapter

It was a dry month in Sredne Kolymsk. Dry in the sense that there was a lack of excitement, a lack of action and interest. Dante had once said that there was never a dull moment, until now. Every morning he would walk downstairs, prop his feet up on the front desk and wait for the phone to ring. He would sit facing the fire, a deep look of contemplation drowning his face, tinted with a bit of despondency. Every evening, he would walk to Trish's grave and stand there with his hands in his coat pockets, staring down at the frozen gravestone. It was evident he had a difficult time coping with the loss which he proclaimed to be temporary, but he also had a difficult time adjusting to the change in his lifestyle-physically and bio- chemically.  
  
Only days after Trish had been layed to rest, Dante's physical condition became very poor. At first, it was assumed that his excessive drinking and occasional smoking was robbing him of his vitality, but even so, a cigarette or a bit of alcohol poisoning could not affect him as swiftly as this. Dante spoke not of his condition with Trinity, because he was as clueless as she. It came quite obvious to him that something was indeed wrong when simple tasks became tedious, and odd jobs un-motivated him. This drove him to contemplative silence, which eventually built a wall between he and Trinity.  
  
Religiously, Trinity would follow him to Trish's grave but she never got too close, even though he knew she was there. And every evening he would never turn around nor acknowledge her presence. Sometimes she wondered if he was half-human at all, for he possessed no real quality recently other than concealed depression. She would think this as he walked past her, hands buried deep in his pockets and bless her with a passing glance before retiring in front of the fire again.  
  
But, this evening it was different. Dante walked to the gravesite and retrieved Sparda. Trinity stood just on the porch, leaning over the wooden railing to observe him from a safe distance, curiosity flooding her face. He was simply standing with his back to her down the trail, with Sparda jutting out just over his right shoulder.  
  
  
  
Inside, not much had changed in Devil Never Cry. Dante seemed perfectly all right with the gaping hole Vergil had caused in it last month, much to Trinity's displeasure. She had been living there with Dante for three months, and there was neither a hint nor speculation of her presence evident. Aside from the picture of his mother on the front desk, there was nothing to explain Dante's past, supposing he had one.  
  
Unlike Dante and Trish, she and Dante were not intimate. They spoke little and interacted even less. But there was a mutual understanding between the two half devils; once they locked eyes it was a passion, an unbreakable glare-so fierce it seemed to whose who witnessed it, but to Trinity and Dante, it was a tender stare only two half devils could understand.  
  
He had no business and wanted no close business with women other than the woman he would one day choose to house his son-and son it would be. He did enjoy women however; Trinity often caught him lustfully admiring an imported Playboy magazine on a leisurely afternoon. He enjoyed women of all types, mostly thin and shapely, but he had no interest in Trinity as he perhaps once did in Trish.  
  
He was possessive with her not as a caring man would be to his woman, but as hunter to his prized trophy head. Trinity knew this, but did not bother herself with his callous nature.  
  
  
  
Dante waltzed into the main lobby and knocked his boots free of snow with Sparda in his right hand. He looked up at Trinity through his matted, white hair with a smug and almost pleased look about him. She looked him up and down casually and said, "why do you have Sparda with you?" She turned her head away chucked another few logs into the fireplace.  
  
"It was useless where it was." He responded stepping to the side once he entered the doorway. Much to Trinity's surprise, she heard a second set of footsteps entering. She looked up, with a mixture of surprise and disbelief on her face. It was Trish.  
  
Trinity crooked a curious eyebrow, neither disappointed nor excited to see her again. She had believed Dante when he said she would come back, but the human side of her had a hard time grasping the fact that divine forces were at work to keep resuscitating the deceased. This meant nothing other than the fact that Trish's earthly purpose was not yet fulfilled.  
  
Trinity narrowed her brows slightly but turned her head away from them and busied herself with the fire.  
  
"Trish." She acknowledged calmly, never the one to hint disappointment. Trish half-smiled despite herself and closed the door behind her.  
  
"Took you long enough," Dante started, hanging up his coat. His demeanour had changed at once in her presence, a satisfied glow about him.  
  
"Trinity was starting to worry."  
  
Trinity could hardly believe that Trish returned looking the way she did. Nothing had changed. Nothing. And Trish reassumed her role as Dante's confidant and physical therapist as though no time had passed while she was absent at all.  
  
Dante was sitting up at the front desk playing a hand of cards with himself, and Trinity, recently finished with an odd job, sat down before the fire to some take out Russian diashe and malokha. She planted herself on a stack of old Playboy magazines and picked at it in a disinterested fashion, rolling around an empty beer bottle under her right foot. Dante was a slob, an evident bachelor that didn't change his living conditions even for ladies present.  
  
Trish swayed over and planted herself at Trinity's feet, pushing her long flaxen hair over her shoulders. It practically swept the floorboards. This was the closest and perhaps the most deliberate attempt to strike up conversation with Trinity thus far. She did not dislike her, but it seemed as though Dante stood between them-they were both so focused and dedicated to him, their hero-that there was no time to develop a relationship.  
  
"How did you guys get along without me?" She asked, sitting slightly on her side, using her arm to prop her.  
  
"We didn't," Trinity responded in a neutral tone.  
  
"Oh..." Trish's voice trailed off. Small talk was not winning Trinity over. Trish was bothering her; it seemed, until she looked over her shoulder at Dante who was oblivious to their conversation. She lowered her voice to a whisper and slid down the stack of magazines to sit next to her.  
  
"Something's wrong."  
  
"With him? I noticed it too." Trish had only been around a few hours that day, yet she was conscious of the difference in Dante's behaviour already.  
  
"He's not the same man he was a few months ago, and because of it, I feel like I've assumed the role of his guardian angel or something."  
  
Trish nodded. "You are an angel, Trin." Trish smiled crookedly, looking over her shoulder at Dante who had passed out in a sitting position, head bent on a side in a deep slumber.  
  
"He'll come around, I suppose."  
  
Trinity thought not, but she didn't bother to voice her disagreement. Dante was man enough to handle it himself, whatever it was, and when the day came when he needed her, she would be happy to assist her ace. That was the end of their brief and hospitable conversation. Trinity tossed the cold food aside and sat staring intently and quietly into the fire. What was so wrong?  
  
  
  
Dante stuck the head of Alastor into the ankle high snow outside and rested his foot on a snow-capped log. Although Sredne Kolymsk was a winter wonderland, it hadn't snowed since they'd been residents-almost half a year now. The wind was vicious, however, and Dante adjusted his gloves quickly as he looked on at his opposition. Trinity, he figured, was a fair and nimble fighter, but she could be better. By improving her swordsman- ship she would be of more value to him in the future.  
  
"Come on Trin," he instructed, walking away from Alastor. She fixed her eyes on Trish who was leaning over the railing on the front porch watching them. How much more terrible would she be with Trish as a spectator? Anyhow, her fighting skills had improved greatly over the past few weeks so it seemed. Unless Dante was getting slow…  
  
She plucked Alastor from the ground and studied Dante's position a few yards away from her. He was standing crooked with his shoulders slumped over as though exhausted, taking rapid breaths. Peculiar, but Trinity thought nothing of this-as he had been slow and lumbering lately, making foolish mistakes and poor judgement. But today he just allowed the wind to carry him to and fro, making no effort to withstand the natural forces.  
  
"Dante…?" Trish said softly, beginning her descent down the front porch once she noticed something unjust. He did not reply.  
  
"Dante?!" Trinity dropped Alastor into the snow and ran toward him just as he collapsed in a heap of crimson, mass confusion.  
  
  
  
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++  
  
"Jesus, he's half dead. I'm gonna go get a vital." Trish picked up Dante's legs and swung them onto the bed, disregarding the fact that dirty snow and chunks of ice would eventually pool on his bed sheets. She ran downstairs again, leaving Trinity and Dante by themselves. Trinity sat down at the foot of his bed after clicking on the dull yellow lamp and stared down at him.  
  
"Are you dead yet? You Devil…" Dante, who was looking out the window, turned to face her and blinked once.  
  
"No such luck, Angel." Trinity narrowed her brows, somehow convinced she knew this was coming.  
  
Dante's room was a mess. In one corner a clutter of darts lay scattered below a dartboard that was beyond abused. A drum set, which he hadn't used in ages, was covered with various articles of clothing and guns-damned if Dante didn't have an arsenal in his room. Clips littered the unvarnished floorboards, guns of partial and full assembly hung from walls, poked out from under his bed and closet. Posters of scantily clad women with plentiful breasts embellished his room-if Dante could get his satisfaction from merely looking at naked women then he could never be sexually frustrated.  
  
Trish strolled back into the room and casually flicked a vital star onto his chest. Taking much the same effect as the yellow orb, it liquidated into a gel- like substance and disappeared into his pores. His body flashed once with green light and as though falling in reverse, he sat up abruptly, holding his head.  
  
"Take it easy Sparda," Trish commanded, placing a cautious hand on his chest to push him back down.  
  
"Look, that was your last vital. Since when do you inhale those things?"  
  
He reached over at the pack of Petro cigarettes and placed one between his lips, striking a match head on the side of his night stand and lit it, taking in a few shallow drags before he responded to her question.  
  
"Just been dying a lot faster than usual." He had said it so relaxed and insouciant that Trinity didn't even take him seriously. He tapped a few ashes onto the floor and kicked off his boots, trading passive stares with Trish and Trinity. Trish looked over at Trinity who shrugged her shoulders slightly.  
  
"How can I help you if you don't tell me what's wrong?"  
  
"How can I tell you what's wrong if I don't know?" He blew smoke out his nostrils in a heavy exhale, trying to bury the apprehension on his face. Trinity opened her mouth to say something.  
  
"Dante…" she started, placing a concerned hand on his arm.  
  
"Forget it Trin," Trish interrupted, grabbing her hand. "Let's go get some vitals."  
  
Trinity looked to her surprised that should would be abrasive toward his condition concerning how fond she was of him. But there was something else there in her eyes, she noticed, compelling Trinity to go with her-it was almost a hidden signal. Trinity nodded.  
  
  
  
  
  
Rayne Tsu was not a he nor a she. It was some thing, a mythical-like sorceress that presented itself in the form of a human figure. In its current form it was a young, fair maiden with ashen hair down to it's elf- like ears, which projected slightly from beneath its brown head covering. He/she/it's eyes ran milky white with a faint iris of lavender lost in the white canvas, and its mischievous lips were constantly curled in a spiteful grimace. A trouble maker by nature, Rayne Tsu prided itself by finding any disastrous situation or calamity humorous that did not concern it.  
  
  
  
Trish exhaled heavily and shoved her hands deep into her coat pockets to warm them. Trinity stepped up beside her, wiping her feet on the faded brown welcome mat outside the door. At least, she assumed that it said "welcome," because everything in the town was in Russian script and dialect.  
  
"What is this?" she asked, shivering heavily. They must have trekked for miles in ankle high snow and ice paved streets from Devil Never Cry. It was the first time Trinity had wandered away from D.N.C without Dante and frankly, being in the presence of a foreign mass of individuals made her nervous.  
  
"Rayne Tsu," Trish replied, rapping her frozen knuckles against the heavy wooden door.  
  
"Who's that?"  
  
"Not who, what." She corrected flatly. Trinity crooked a curious eyebrow as the door swung open and a gust of warm, inviting air rushed upon them, engulfing them in heat. Trish held the door open for Trinity to go in, but she was scanning dark interior quickly with her eyes, reluctant to enter before Trish did. Trish nodded toward the entrance jovially, assuring her with a smile.  
  
Once inside, Trinity felt compelled to keep walking down the narrow hallway. For one, it was relieving to be out of the cold and into a snug dwelling. Secondly, the hallway was barely shoulder width and there were no side doors nor light in it. The only light was a hazy orange that glowed from a stone fireplace at the end of the hall. Trish couldn't even pass her if even she wanted to it was so narrow. Trinity felt as though she could develop a severe case of claustrophobia if she took any longer to get out.  
  
She made a disgusted face at the smell of herbs and pot-pourri which was so potent she couldn't absorb the smell of anything else. She stopped at the end of the hallway and observed the small room before her. There was a forest green couch and an alborne oriental rug below an oak wood coffee table that held up various scented candles. The wax on the candles had long since melted and ran onto the table, cooling in a hard puddle shape. Behind the ugly leather couch there was one window that was barred with so much snow it was impossible to see out of.  
  
There was something wrong with the dwellings-it seemed as though everything was two times smaller than average. Yes-Trinity was towering over everything indeed, the coffee table was no taller than her knees and the ceiling was abnormally low-so low in fact she just realised that she was ducking. Trish bypassed her at last, seemingly aware or everything as though she'd been there before, making her way to the small couch and collapsing into it with a heavy sigh. It almost disappeared under her body. Trinity was still looking around at the estranged home, the fireplace was no taller than her hips and the miniature furnishings seemed almost fitting for a child's playhouse.  
  
"What is Rayne Tsu, a hobbit?" she asked, fearful to touch anything least she break it, but she could not hide the amusement in her face.  
  
"Sit down Trin, take a load off," Trish invited, peeling off her heavy overcoat and tossing it aside. Trinity started to take off her coat as well.  
  
"I thought we were going out for vital-" She stopped suddenly, her black eyes peeled wide with surprise and wonder as she felt tugging on the bottom of her coat.  
  
"Yes, sit and stay a while," came the muffled voice. Trinity looked down alas into the face of Rayne Tsu, an impish little creature with haunting eyes and talon- like fingernails. Trinity's face flooded with disbelief as she stared down at the little human-like thing which now held her coat bundled up it it's hands. Her jaw loosened slightly.  
  
"Sit," it hissed, a thin, forked tongue flickering out from between its lips. Although it had a mischievous smile fixed on its face, Trinity complied mainly because she did not wish to upset it.  
  
Carefully, she planted herself in a small chair, swallowing the seat so much that she sat haunched over, her knees almost to her breast.  
  
"I knew you were coming-freezing this night, aye? Must be nice…" Rayne Tsu seemed to be a little too pleasant, the words flew from its lips like rheumatic prose as it hung Trinity's coat in the closet.  
  
Rayne's body was completely covered by brown monk-like attire, so simple it was that a rope held it tied at the waste. He/she/it hobbled along the kitchen area-which was the fireplace and poured some tea into two large mugs-large in proportion to it, of course. Trinity was blatantly intrigued by this Rayne Tsu-longing to reach out a hand and yank the covering from off its head, but she would not have been surprised if a unicorn horn was being hidden.  
  
Rayne hobbled over to Trish and handed her the tea, hands swallowing the mug. Trish was not bothered by this at all, but Trinity accepted the tea out of manners with no intention to drink it, but to merely have it warm her hands. What the hell was she looking at? An elf? A Sprite? A hobbit? It was rational to believe that such things exist, for she was supposedly fiction herself.  
  
"I knew you were coming," it hissed.  
  
"Then tell me why we came," Trish requested, licking a faint moustache from her top lip. Trinity was at a lost for words, even more than usual. She watched the little thing amble into another room and come back with a wooden chair between he/she/it's hands. Rayne sat down eventually and clasped its talon like fingers, grinning heavily at Trinity.  
  
"Yes, yes, yes," it nodded, chuckling softly.  
  
Trish crossed her long, desirable legs and looked over at Trinity who was more than anxious to depart, had she known the way home. Trish now, suddenly became uncomfortable and unstrung. Although Rayne Tsu was no more than fortune teller, Trish knew that the imp's laugh was forbidding and filled with knowledgeable malice.  
  
"I will tell you why you've come," Rayne chuckled, flicking he/she/its thin tongue at Trinity only to watch her writhe in disgust. Trinity scoffed, placing her mug of tea on the coffee table and waited for Rayne to pull out a crystal ball or some tarot cards, but she did no such thing. It would have entertained Trinity much to know why Trish had come, because she had no real reason for accompanying her to this place.  
  
"You are here concerning your dying hero, you are." Trinity sat up abruptly, surprised that she knew about Dante's condition but also because she had said dying, which meant Dante was not yet out of the woods. Trish was not taken by this information.  
  
"Yes, but why?" Trinity blurted out, suddenly a believer. Rayne chuckled some more.  
  
"Someone has his Melancholy Soul!" It answered between laughs. Her amusement was angering Trinity something fierce. There was a slight flash of impatient fire in her dark eyes. Trish gasped at the mention.  
  
"His Melancholy Soul? Dante's? Who?" With each question Trish edged closer to the end of the couch until she was leaning in so close to Rayne that she could see her tongue flickering inside her dark mouth.  
  
"Why Vergil of course!"  
  
"Vergil!" Trinity and Trish exclaimed together, nearly jumping out of their seats.  
  
"But why? What can we do?" Trinity inquired, still overwhelmed with the fact that Vergil was behind Dante's slow demise.  
  
"Destroy it of course! Ha! Ha!"  
  
Trish chewed nervously on her bottom lip. Dante had done so much for her-now the tables had turned so suddenly. But Trish would do whatever in her power to destroy his Melancholy Soul-and Vergil if possible. Trinity was just as if not more impassioned to help Dante as was Trish.  
  
"Where is he? Vergil, I mean."  
  
"Ho ho! He has gone quite a long way! As will you if you care to save your hero! Here, take this!" Rayne threw a small glass tube into Trish's lap with a wooden cork keeping a fighting ball of light from escaping. Trinity leaned in close to look at it.  
  
"What is that, a firefly?" She asked, tapping at the tube curiously.  
  
"Follow the guiding light. It will take you to your hero's Melancholy Soul, it will. But I warn you! Your quest will be filled with much betrayal and tribulation! Trust must be your foundation or failure will be your promised fate." Rayne stared directly at Trinity the entire warning; only casting her eyes on Trish once when mentioning betrayal. An indirect insinuation, perhaps.  
  
Betrayal? Tribulation? Trinity wrinkled her eyebrows and glared toward Trish's direction, but shook the thoughts of doubt from her head. Suddenly, she was burning in her heart with the desire to know who. The answer could not be postponed. Trish seemed to have been reading her thoughts, because she blurted out:  
  
"Who, Rayne? Who?!" She grabbed hold of its impish little shoulders and shook it. Rayne shook its head.  
  
"If I were to tell you then it would change your destiny. Mind you, I will not be the one to interfere with pre-destination!" A crooked smile fixed on Rayne's face. Trish looked to Trinity hoping she would voice her resentment, but she only went to the closet to retrieve her coat. It was time to go. Now.  
  
  
  
Trish clumped outside fighting to button up her coat as she kicked the door shut behind her, completely stricken with disbelief. Even if she did believe it-she just didn't want to. Trinity had already started toward D.N.C.  
  
"Trin, wait a minute, will you?" Trinity turned around and waited for Trish to catch up to her. It was getting dark and she couldn't wait to get home before there was little or no light left to guide them.  
  
"What do you think about all this?" She asked, tucking her endless hair into her hood. Trinity shrugged almost carelessly. There was no question about her certainty.  
  
"We're gonna need a hell of a lot of vitals." 


	2. The Peaceful Journey

Chapter 2: The Peaceful Journey  
  
This was the most unhappy Trinity had seen Dante in months, even more so than when Trish was supposedly dead. Of course, she was not the one to break the news to him, she stood in the doorway with her arms crossed as Trish regurgitated all the information they had earlier received. And Dante's face modulated from anger to worry to resentment and even sadness during that time, but he was by all means ready to embark on this journey to reclaim his soul, dying or not.  
  
Trish sat silently at the edge of his bed, a reassuring hand resting on his leg as they awaited his reply. Dante, who was covered waste down with his bare chest exposed, no longer seemed to mind the ridiculously cold weather, nor the information received. He swept the pack of Petro cigarettes into the trash can with one clean motion and tucked his arms behind his head, staring vacantly at Trish.  
  
"Start packing," was all that came from him.  
  
  
  
  
  
Trinity, long since finished packing, retired to her bed earlier than usual, thinking. She lay staring into the ceiling, black hair scattered about her head, covering the pillow like a creeping mass of darkness. She lay flat on her back on the old tattered sheets, passing her eyes over the bare walls. So uninteresting and bland.  
  
Trish still had the light on, shuffling around the room doing God knows what. A wonder she wasn't curled up in Dante's bed exercising her right to nurse him or satisfy his libidinous urges. It was arguable which of the two were more beautiful, Trish or Trinity, although they could not be anymore different. It was a matter of simple preference. Origin drove the wedge of difference between the two; darkness and daylight. It was also arguable which was which.  
  
They were all packed now, if you wanted to call it that. Dante saw no true reason to bring anything other than the warm clothes on his back and the weapons that decorated his body. All Trinity would bring with her was Force Edge, which had been given to her by none other than that half-devil himself. But Trish, Trish had the guiding light and all the green orbs and vital stars red orbs could buy.  
  
Would this be an emotional excursion for Dante, even though he and Vergil had long since broken the ties between them? The fact still remained, the amulet that swayed ever so gently about Trish's slender neck was a constant reminder that Dante was not alone. Regardless, Vergil was his brother. Even if he was trying to kill him.  
  
  
  
  
  
Dante's idea of morning was too literal an idea-12:45AM, exactly. Even though Trish's eyes were closed, there was an unwelcome flood of light that invaded the comfort of her darkness and roused her from her subconscious. She rolled to her side, squinting at the intensity of the light. Dante had Trinity grasped by the arms, shaking her gently. He was already dressed to go.  
  
"Trinity, get up. Time to go. You too, Trish." He looked back over his right shoulder at her and nodded a brief morning hello. Trish sat up stiffly and pawed around for her clothes despite herself. Trinity, convinced she was dreaming, was completely unwilling to leave the warmth and comfort of her bed to start on this expedition so early. But, just out the corner of her heavy eyes she noticed Dante making use of another green orb and that was enough to compel her out of bed. It was dreadful to witness how much this was draining him.  
  
"Yeah, gimmie a minute," she mumbled in her best half-conscious voice, pushing her hair behind her shoulders. Dante nodded and hopped down the stairs taking every other step until he reached the bottom floor where he only stopped to put on another coat before heading outside.  
  
Pitch black outside it was, with the mere exception of the full moon that painted the white snow a pale blue with reflection. Quite a spectacle to behold, however, how His Majesty never ceased to use nature as a canvas for His masterpieces. The rays were His paintbrushes, the world was His canvas and anything in it was worthy to be painted as He see fit. The trees, faint skeletons with little hope of retaining the life they once had, cast long menacing shadows that caressed the trail they had yet to take.  
  
The night was still and deathly chilly with faint sounds of four sled dogs snuffing and scuffling up snow under their paws. It was the fastest and most logical way to get around Sredne Kolymsk's harsh terrain. But Dante could only afford two sleds with two Malamutes attached to each, which was what they had to make due with until they were able to switch transportation's. Dante exhaled heavily, his breath vaporising about his gorgeous face. The simplicity of this "mission" made him uneasy. Already he could feel himself begin to wither with oncoming death, he would have to watch himself least he succumb to it at a latter time. Never again would he allow himself to be so helpless and defeated in front of Trish and Trinity.  
  
Trinity made it outside first, fighting to close up her parka with one hand while holding Force Edge in the next ,as she quietly made her way down the porch steps. She stopped just short of Dante and raised a disbelieving eye towards the dogs. Dante seemed to be reading her.  
  
"It'll take us where we need to go."  
  
"Yeah, but how does it steer?  
  
"Just let me do the driving, Angel," he retorted, looking toward the door as Trish emerged with the shotgun resting on her shoulder. Dante motioned toward her sleigh with a courteous bow. Trish, with much umbrage stapled to her attractive visage, mounted the runner and looked down at the two lumbering wolf-dogs. And they looked back lovingly, with a stupid lolling- tongue expression, wagging their bushy tails with anticipation.  
  
Dante mounted his too, wrapping Trinity's arms around his masculine body, generous enough to remove Alastor so it would not harm her. She held on tightly to him, feet securely planted on the narrow planks.  
  
"Hold on well. You ready Trish?" He looked over at her who nodded as she carefully removed the cork from the glass tube. The little light shot out, seemingly elated to be released and busied itself in a circular dance before shooting toward its destination.  
  
Dante whistled, and the two dogs leapt to their feet and began to pull their temporary masters behind the light. Trish whistled as well, and soon she was but a pace behind them, trotting along in the darkness.  
  
  
  
A solid three hours had passed and Trish's lashes were paved with frost, her hands although gloved had long since lost feeling in the fingers and the ability to clench. The light was always ahead of them, sensible enough to know that when they stopped, it was to stop as well. It would be hours yet until the sun peaked, and Trish didn't know how much more she could take of the wind ripping against her face. She glanced over at Dante who didn't seem to mind that his lips were heavy with numb weight and his feet were undoubtfully frozen in place on the runner.  
  
At first, Trinity was blissful, holding fast to her hero's midsection and pressing her face against his back for warmth- up until sleep began to sweep her face and Dante's body heat comforted her so much that she was fighting sleep as though she would die if she closed her eyes for too long. She allowed herself to slip once, but, on guard usual, Dante grabbed her arms under his until she was able to pull herself to a standing position once again.  
  
"Dante, please…can't we stop for a while?" Trish begged, hopping off the sled every now and again to run beside it. It was her way of waking herself up. Dante didn't reply but he very much wanted to keep going until the nearest town. There was something about where they were that made him distraught. He slowed the sled for just a moment, passing his eyes from dead tree to dead tree, a thick forest of skeletal shrubbery that they were in the midst of.  
  
"Hmm," he growled curiously, his senses tingling with each passing second. He listened intently, sharp eye on the surroundings, hoping he would see a shadow to confirm his presuppositions but, luckily he was disappointed.  
  
"What the hell was that?" Trish exclaimed suddenly, snapping her head to the sound of childish laughter. Dante looked too, his hand unconsciously drifting toward Ivory. HE wrapped his finger over the trigger, ready.  
  
"Where's the light?" Trinity asked, head raised toward the sky. It was gone.  
  
"Oh shit," Dante mumbled, pulling out Ivory and looking about him desperately. He pressed the frozen nozzle up against his mid section, reluctant to return it yet anxious to avoid confrontation in his condition. Trish stopped first, fright melting her frozen face as she looked about her nervously. The rustling and the childish laughter seemed to be mocking them or rather fuelling their anticipation so that they would be driven to attack.  
  
The dogs now, sensing some foreign danger began barking fearlessly at that which they could not see. Their ears folded neatly against their heads, bearing intimidating fangs and menacing growls in hopes of scaring off whatever it was.  
  
A bold Sin Scythe floated through the writhed branches like some black entity, confident that it would succeed in destroying its first target: Trish. It darted forward quietly with the scythe grasped tightly between its' ghostly hands, swinging with such force that the least effort it seemed to take ironically tossed Trish clear off the runner into a thicket of trees. With startling speed, Trish had disappeared from view within a blinking moment's waste. Immediately the bold barking ceased and the dogs resided to deep throat whimpers and fearful yips, loosing all courage.  
  
Dante now, well aware of the enemy he was facing, did not wait for the Sin Scythe to come to him, rather, the night was disrupted with rapid fire and screams of evidence that one of the Scythe had been hit. The natural element became Dante's instrument of aid; leaping off trees which assisted him in dazzling aerobatics and kicking up snow to temporarily blind his attackers as he seemed to disappear behind this white veil. Tumbling and ducking in the snow was his grace, but Trinity needed no such fluff.  
  
Recently she had found that her powers allowed her to be anchored and fighting. Another Sin Scythe, rushing down on her with its scythe high, found itself suspended only feet away from her, where she simply plucked the scythe from it and shattered its mask to pieces with little or not effort on her part. This new weapon armed, it was much easier for her to let loose round trip after round trip, freeing her hands to cease the flight of whichever Sin Scythe that mistakenly got too close.  
  
Trish was even more graceful with fury as her adrenaline. Each Scythe was blasted to dust with the rage that exploded from her fingertips. It was well that Trish and Trinity could hold their own, because Dante was in no condition to fight for them and himself. It wasn't long until the rapid fire became spaced and infrequent, rolling and tumbling took too much from him and the jumping ceased altogether. Desperate, a Sin threw its scythe at an unsuspecting Dante, splattering his blood all over the surrounding snow. Recovering quickly by the power of will, he managed to fire off a powered bullet into the face of the scythe which exploded on impact. The little light reappeared where the Scythe once was. Silence.  
  
"Argh…" Dante dropped to his knees and crossed his arms over his chest and midsection, pain grinding his teeth together. Trish dropped the shotgun and ran over to him, eager to offer a vital star or green orb but, Trinity grabbed her arm gently to stop her, already aware of what was happening to him.  
  
"He's healing himself," she explained, watching the blue energy about his body absorb slowly into him. Trish offered him a hand.  
  
"You gonna be OK Dante?" she asked, pulling him to his feet. Despite the short rejuvenation process, he was still evidently drained and he would continue to loose fight least he accept a green orb. His pride would not allow him, however, for to accept an orb would mean he was incapable of continuing naturally, showing weakness.  
  
"Let's go, I'm alright." He hopped on the runner again, waiting patiently for Trinity to reattach herself. Trish shook her head, well aware of his ignorance as she picked up the discarded shotgun and stepped up to the runner herself. There was a whistle, and they were off again.  
  
  
  
  
  
It was a little after four when they had reached remote Magaáan. The entire town was asleep and the only available motel that would accept them was small and decrepit, but sleep was so intense they were too unconscious or too sleepy to care. The three of them would have make due with one room.  
  
Dante tumbled into the room half frozen and half dead, threw himself at the end of the bed and fumbled to press a vital star into his flesh best he could. Trish and Trinity walked in on this but acted oblivious to what he was doing, giving him at least his pride. He was helpless against this invisible force. And he just knelt there at the foot of the bed, defeated, his face pressed into the quilt as though he were praying, beads of melting ice dotting his face.  
  
  
  
Trish was up early the next morning throwing back a bit of coffee to warm her body. For some reason, even though she hated to admit it, Trish was strongly dwelling on everything Rayne Tsu had to say to them. She had figured, if anyone were to be a traitor, it would be Trinity. She was a direct descendant from a minion of the Dark Prince himself. Yet a side of her scorned herself for thinking such things, for Trinity was more angel than devil, and she had more of a history of back-stabbing than did Trinity. Nevertheless, she knew who she was. She knew what Trinity was, but who was she?  
  
Dante was inside the motel behind her paying for their stay and Trinity, who took up quite the liking to the sled dogs, was busy treating them to bacon before they went separate ways. Trish yawned heavily, staring through the veil of snow at the large ship that would take them clear across the Sea of Okhotsk. The name of the ship was in large black bold named RUHIGE REISE which, in translation from German meant peaceful or calm journey. It was there where the light had stopped, and it was evident that it needed them to follow it through this sea somewhere south of there, possibly the Kuril Islands.  
  
Sleep raked her face; she had got up so many times during the night to see if Dante still had a pulse, but he had already disciplined himself to periodically get up and treat himself. Yet, she could not help but stare at her handsome ace as he did it. In a way, it motivated her. Everyday they were just another step closer to their final destination.  
  
The townsfolk were quite peculiar, knowingly regarding Dante as "the demon hunter," being overwhelmingly pleasant to he and his company. Although they, having with time forgotten or dismissed the legend, considered him to be a little less than sane. Dante strutted from the motel, Alastor over one shoulder, Force Edge on the next, and walked up next to Trish quietly. He had somehow overnight acquired this unpleasant air about him; he was still deathly sarcastic and smart-assed, but he became quite impossible to talk to. It was only because he was defensive, trying to regain the respect which he thought he had lost by showing weakness.  
  
The Ruhige Reise was not a legitimate ship-it was more of a revised luxury boat that had been used as though it were made for labour. It hauled fish, trash and more importantly to them, anyone who wished to get away from Magaáan.  
  
Dante made his way up the ramp first, with Trish and his heels and Trinity at hers. He was overly cautious not to slip on a patch of ice on the wooden ramp or to fall victim to a supernatural force. He had known since he was stricken with the death spell that there was evil watching them. Watching them wherever they went, whatever they did. Casting hateful eyes about them as they slept. Last night was only the first of many attacks-Dante was not surprised. But he was not worried, the Underworld's main concern would not be them, necessarily, but to rid of the guiding light. Once it was gone it was no more, and Dante would have no way of finding his soul. Right now it was safe inside the glass tubing, which in return was safe inside Trish's coat pocket.  
  
  
  
Aside from Dante's party, there was only the ships' captain who was an irrelevant middle aged man named Sckuff, a handful of men whose job was to somewhere dispose of the trash, and a chef. None of them spoke English. Because of their sex, Trish and Trinity were understandably uncomfortable being the only females and already there was a comment made that was deciphered to be sexual. This ended promptly, for Dante stuffed the nozzle of Ebony between his teeth and promised to kill him. Violence is a universal language of its own in a sense.  
  
The journey was beyond boring. They interacted with no one, bothered nothing, and only left their room to eat lunch in silence with the lingering smell of decomposing trash embellishing the small dining room. Otherwise, they were intentionally alienated in their rooms all day. Interaction was useless and unnecessary for Dante, who every few hours would dive into weakness.  
  
Trish sat in their quarters, entertaining herself as Dante slept, looking over now and again out a small porthole to see if the light was travelling in their favour. It was. Trinity on the other hand, adapted a case of fearlessness, patrolling the upper and lower decks. Confidant that this job was important, she wondered still if Trish would be lost in Dante, forgetting that despite his seeming vitality, he was dying. It was well into the night hour and she was certain that something would again try to capture the guiding light. As they started out from Magaáan, Force Edge was literally frozen in her clenched fist, but, south promised a warmer climate. With time, her entire body had thawed-a process which hurt a great deal, and she was able to shed the excess clothing.  
  
She leaned over the railing, staring out into the blackened horizon. North, south, east, and west had been temporarily lost in this black sea. Had she not known up from down, she would have been confused as to which was the night sky, littered with stars and blue moon, and which was the sea that mimicked it with frightening accuracy.  
  
Trish opened the door to their room behind her, glass tube in hand. Trinity looked back but said nothing as she approached the railing, waiting for the light to come to her. As if programmed, it floated over willingly into the glass. There was a roar from bottom deck, but she thought nothing of it as the shipmates had been boisterous and drunken most of the night. There was a commotion, most likely an angry loser flipping over the card table, then scuffling.  
  
"Say, you hear that?" Trinity asked, leaning on Force Edge as if it were a prop.  
  
"What? Silence? Finally." Trish replied, rolling the tube between her palms in an agitated habit.  
  
"Despite that. Listen." She leaned over the railing to hear what was going on down deck, Trish joining her as well.  
  
"What am I listening for?" She asked, pulling her hair from her eyes. There was a loud shuffling sound, wood scraping against wood perhaps, and two metallic objects clanging together.  
  
"That." She leaned all the way over the rail now, holding on for dear life least she slip, and leaned over best she could to see part of the bottom deck. A Marionette hopped by, then another, moving as if some invisible puppeteer was controlling them, arms bent at the joints and knees bending slightly with each hop forward. Trinity's eyes widened as a Fetish slid by spinning its wheel of fire.  
  
"Shit." She flew back up over the railing and spun around to face Trish.  
  
Courteous, but not curious, she asked, "what's happening?"  
  
"They're dead. The shipmates-no doubt they are. And there's a gang of Marionettes heading up here now." She spoke quickly, banging open the door loudly to purposely wake Dante. He jumped up erectly, shooting a hand over at the nightstand which did not exist for his guns that were not there. Force of habit it was, and he swiped nothing but air.  
  
"What?" He was half drowsy and fogged with a film of sleep that blurred his vision as he pat the bed around him for his shirt.  
  
"Trouble, and it's heading up here."  
  
  
  
Trish wished to start in the thick of things, waiting with much expectation at the top of the staircase. At first she could only hear them coming, but soon they were in sight. So fixed she was on what was before her, that she was oblivious to the red portal behind her transporting a Fetish with its arms held high above its head.  
  
They were coming from everywhere, the little ship had become a congregation hall for Fetish, Bloody Mary and Marionette alike in a matter of minutes. One appeared in front of Trinity as she was leaving the room, swinging its knives furiously. Half clad, Dante blasted a shotgun round straight through its wooden head, bursting it backwards with its mouth open in a silent scream. A shower of orbs pelted her body. Relieved, she darted out and looked left, lurching back at the army of Marionettes that edged forward.  
  
"Trish?!" She called, managing to catch a glimpse of her between the cluttered bodies. Dante sprung out from behind her wasting no time with hesitation, leapt directly into the heart of demons and the red orbs begun to fly. Red orb was exchanged for blood when the rush was upon him, plummeting him with blow after blow and shotgun blast for shotgun blast. Trinity lifted her hand to them, picking up a small crowd and with a simple flick of her wrist, dismissed the mass into the sea, clearing a narrow path for her to get to Trish.  
  
She shoved through the bodies ignoring the damage inflicted on her and ran smack into the chest of a Fetish which brought up its weapons to protect itself. Before she knew what was happening, it sucked in a breath of air, brought its head back and an explosion of fire rushed from its gaping mouth. She threw herself to the floor, cringing from the heat as the Marionettes caught fire, screaming yet still attacking, spreading the fire among themselves. Dante was seen leaping up from the crowd, and when he went down again the rage of hell fire was upon them, and ignited bodies flew to and fro about the ship. This had more disadvantage, for the entire top deck caught fire in a large orange blaze that swept away friend and foe alike.  
  
Trish was in a losing struggle the entire time, pinned to the floor by a gang of Fetish's that were smart enough to know that if her hands were held she could not use her powers. But clenched in one sweaty palm was the glass tube which she fought to keep to herself. Dante was screaming yards away, frantically trying to put himself out. The confusion was too much.  
  
"Dante!" Trish called, fighting to keep her fist clenched.  
  
"Trish! Throw me the light!" Trinity yelled, dodging being shot to hell by a Marionette's gunfire. She held her hand high and pleaded with her with her eyes, knowing well that it was the light that they were after. But Trish refused, Rayne's words echoing along with her misconceptions of Trinity tumbling about in her head. She would not throw it. She could not, for some unknown force bound her to it.  
  
"Trish!"  
  
"Don't let them get the light!" Dante yelled, stinging his way toward Trish, but every time he made an advancement another Marionette would appear and cease his progression. The ship was filled top and bottom deck with the demon puppets, the fire now de-escalating to the bottom deck. In an instant, the methane gas from the decomposing trash caught fire and there was a mountain of fire emitting wicked heat into the night. There was a slight tilt, then the ship dropped dramatically. Water began to slowly flood the bottom deck where the old wood was giving away as though it were paper.  
  
In that impeccable moment, the Fetish managed to slam Trish's arms against the deck in such a way that the strength sprang her hand open and the tube jolted from her open palm. It sailed toward the bottom deck, the glass exploded, and the little light fluttered about seemingly confused. If floated up deck, only to be sucked into the awaiting mouth of a Fetish.  
  
"No!" Desperate, Dante tackled the guilty Fetish with such force that its back connected with the railing, sending both of them toppling over the railing into the water. Trinity banged an aggravated fist against the railing, gagging from the charred smell of burning Marionettes behind her. She felt her feet slip as Ruhige Reise tilted with its nose jutting up toward the sky. Frantic, she released Force Edge and grasped the railing with both hands, looking down in time to see Trish slide unwillingly into the water. As she was looking up again, a falling Marionette blind- sided her so hard she hadn't a choice but to let go. Head over heels in mass confusion they tumbled, intertwined, attaching and detaching time and again until a she was engulfed by water.  
  
Trish was fighting off a Bloody Mary which had her ankle fastened between its askew, wooden hands, dragging her down into the abyss. Every time she thrashed her arms to get to the surface it was met with the flaring arms of a Marionette. She managed to break free and blindly propel herself off the bodies about her, bursting from the surface and sucking in air like a vacuum. The fire had illuminated the night, chunks of burning wood and trash littered the water as did several bodies trying to stay afloat. Despite being made of wood, the weaponry the puppets carried weighed them down because of their ignorance to let go. Trish looked around her for Dante or Trinity, but all that was in sight was a tiny island about 100 yards away that was almost lost in a veil of smoke and night's blanket. She started for it, worry begging her to stay yet fatigue compelled her to it for she knew she could rest once she reached it.  
  
Trinity surfaced next, her hair matted down covering her face. She brushed it away from her eyes and sputtered up water, grateful to be breathing again. Confused, she swam backwards for a few feet to get away from the disastrous, sinking ship but also to view it from a safe distance. In a few minutes Ruhige Reise would be a memory, and the story would dwell on the fact of its irony.  
  
"My God…" she said in a low whisper, scenes of the fire reflecting in her dark eyes. She noticed Trish swimming away and decided to follow her, trusting that she knew where Dante was. As she turned around, Dante exploded from the water along with the little light happily orbiting his head. She had been startled too heavily to scream in time. Placing a hand over her heart, she sighed in relief and beckoned him to follow her by way of gesture. A little overtaken by the sinking ship himself, he lingered only a moment before he followed her to shore.  
  
  
  
Dante sat on the shore with his head buried between his knees, furious. Yet his anger reaped benefits because he was healing himself in the process. He sat there, speaking not a word to Trish or Trinity, staring at the sinking ship until the water had swallowed it completely. His wet clothes were pasted to his frame, water dripping from every inch of his body, rolling down his nose, into his eyes, from his hair-everywhere.  
  
Trinity sensed the uncomfortable air on the island and spoke not, resting quietly against a tree off to Dante's left, her arms folded across her chest. Wet, tired and unarmed. All of them were more than vulnerable at this moment, but the bright side was that the light had returned, stupidly hovering over Dante's head. She cast an evil eye on Trish who was not far enough away from her, staring into the sea as well. She was in no way responsible for any of the events that happened, but it was the mere fact that her selfishness and lack of trust had surfaced at such an improper time. Trinity was more than insulted. She slid down to the base of the tree, dragging her fingers through her knotted hair.  
  
Trish, deciding that they were silent long enough, said thus: "What do we do now?" She looked more to Dante than Trinity for an answer, but got no response from either of them.  
  
"What's the matter with you two?" She demanded. Dante looked up at her with a blank expression, then brought his attention back to the sea before him.  
  
"No, Trish. What's the matter with you?" Trinity growled, never looking in her direction.  
  
"What?"  
  
"You know what the hell I'm talking about." The more she spoke the angrier she became. Dante made no effort to cease this brewing argument, for he was channelling all his energy to suppress his own anger. Trish started toward her, refusing to admit to her actions.  
  
"What are you getting at?"  
  
Trinity was in no mood to tolerate nonsense nor continue a conversation that was to indefinitely end in dispute. She raised her hand to Trish, pushing her back before she got within ten yards.  
  
"Keep your distance," she declared in a very flat, warning voice that promised a nasty retaliation if she felt threatened. Trish, appalled that Trinity had used her powers against her, seemed to be charging up a retaliation of her own. But much to her surprise, Dante latched onto her arm and pulled her into the sand with him, straddling her and pinning her arms flat. Completely taken off guard, she stared into his angry eyes, surprised and shocked look about her.  
  
"Stop it Trish!" he roared. He had never taken down or ill- treated a woman in his life but that was perhaps a humanistic tendency of his. Right now however, it was losing to a demonic wrath that had no regard for sex.  
  
"Nothing, Trish. We have nothing!" Dante didn't know if we was trembling because he was wet or because he was so enraged at their loss. Alastor, Force Edge, the shotgun-everything they once possessed went down with the ship. All of it belong to the sea now. He exhaled heavily, suddenly stricken with realisation that he had frightened her and he looked away from her face, loosening his grip.  
  
"Nothing but each other right now." His voice became gentle, as did his touch. Opposing verbal apologies, he pleaded for forgiveness with his eyes and gently stroked the hair from her face, again disappointed in himself that he had turned so violent toward her.  
  
"Please, Trish…" It was not a plea, it was more of an unspoken promise he wanted her to make, sprinkled with a dash of apologetic tone. It could have been interpreted as either. Still a little taken, she nodded, and he pulled himself to his feet. He looked to Trinity recognising she was currently feeling too callous to care about what they said or did.  
  
"No more," he finished, referring of course to any future disputes, and started to walk into the water until it was up to his knees, then waist, then under his arms until he dived finally, disappearing from sight in a moment. He was going to retrieve what was rightfully his.  
  
Glad that Trish had been reprimanded promptly by Dante, the fire in Trinity's eyes went out and she wished nothing more than to forgive her now, but the reoccurring memory refused to allow her to let it go. Unconsciously adding insult to injury, she said knowingly, "as opposed to making your own destiny, you're living your life according to everything Rayne said."  
  
Trish, finally admitting to it, nodded her head yes.  
  
Trinity nodded as well, batting at the little light that had adopted her since Dante's absence. A simple light, one purpose it served so it seemed, yet when Trish had it she could not part with it. And now that she didn't have it, she had no desire to possess it again. 


	3. The Purple Devil

Chapter 3: The Purple Devil  
  
As expected, Dante was successful. He had retrieved all weaponry by the next morning, after countless dives and endless searches in the dark. Fatigue and famine had taken its toll on his body. When he made it to shore again, he was dragging Alastor in one hand, the shotgun in the next. A flood of water rushed from the nozzle, and he threw it next to the others he had found.  
  
His lungs were burning him severely, his cheeks had for once established some form of colour, and his eyes scorched red with irritation. He crumbled into the sand face down, feeling the grip of oncoming death beginning to strangling him, creeping through his body until he felt he was immobilised. He was nothing more than consciousness in a useless shell of a man that was. This is how a man dies, he thought, conscious of the death, conscious and unable to scream with a functioning brain, yet-powerless. Death, he understood, had him by the feet, for a numbness crept over him from the bottom up. It had him fastened by the ankles until it seemed to pull itself up, up his legs until it had him by the waist. It was not pain this time-he had died before and it was in an agony by the hands of an enemy, at the edge of the sword. This was new, it was a helplessness.  
  
This time he was able to savour it; there was no light, no tunnel, no angelic voices, but he knew it was a power greater than he that held him. The face of the Grim Reaper was invisible, and he recollected a time in his boyhood when his mother spoke of angels and God and the Underworld. A God so merciful could not have him by the waist like this. Even in his death the Devil sought to steal his soul to hell.  
  
It was not until the icy hand of the Grim Reaper had gripped his heart that he began to come to terms with his life-understanding that it was worth living. His pupils were lost in his pale eyes, and he took a dry, gasping breath, twitching in effort to fight back the hand that bound him. It was then also that he realised that he had to swallow his pride in order to live-once he died it was game over.  
  
"Trish…" Came his pitiful whisper, the death seizing him by the throat now.  
  
"TRISH!" He screamed with his last bit of dynamism, suddenly aware that his eyes were peeled open in fright yet he saw nothing.  
  
His hearing was the last to go.  
  
  
  
  
  
"Dante…"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"What do you see?"  
  
He struggled to open his heavy eyes, sewn shut by the film of sleep. He cracked it open and a surge of light invaded his slanted eyes, blinding him temporarily. He smashed them shut again, groaning. Plucking his stiff arms from his sides and covering his face, he began to rub deeply, stifling a yawn which was accompanied by a tremendous roar. Again he opened his eyes, seeing only his blurry fingers at first, outlined red by the light, then each individual finger came into view. Slowly, he spread his fingers and accepted the light inch by inch until he was able to completely remove his hands from his face.  
  
He was on a bed in a hotel room no doubt. The walls were a deep, burnt yellow and the ceiling was oxblood, making the room seem a lot smaller and darker than it actually was. He noticed the design of things in the room were foreign and unfamiliar to him, and he narrowed his brows curiously, staring at incomprehensible characters that speckled the wall from north to south.  
  
"Where am I?" he asked the voice, his throat dry.  
  
"Japan." He felt a kindly hand touch him lightly on the arm.  
  
"Trish?" He said hopefully, turning to his right and starting into the glowing face of Trinity. She was a sight for sore eyes. He breathed lightly, feeling relieved.  
  
"Oh, Angel it's you. Just as good."  
  
"You've been out for three days, but you didn't miss much. Turns out we were just north of the Kuril Islands and a Coast Guard rescued us." She smiled broadly at him, glad to see her ace animate. Dante groaned, sitting up fully and resting his back against the headboard. He noticed that he was partially dressed and he bunched the covers around him for the sake of privacy. However he got there, he didn't care, but he was blown away at the fact that he was unconscious for three days. Feeling as though he'd just awoken from a coma, he gently grasped Trinity's forearm and closed his eyes, thankful for the company.  
  
"Did I die?"  
  
"Almost. Don't do it again though, no more yellow orbs." He opened his eyes again, feeling a humble smile spread across his handsome visage. Trinity had completely changed her attire, he noted. A black, loose fitting silk kimono with silver trimming the cuffs caressed her frame. Underneath, a tight leather pant hugged her legs and seemed to somewhere disappear into a pair of custom boots, and her top dipped at the neck, a thin string criss- crossing it together, slightly exposing her plentiful breasts when she leaned forward. For a moment he seemed to be sponging up a great eyeful in this area until he brought his eyes up to look at her directly.  
  
"I swear, you and Trish…" he started, running his fingers through her midnight hair. She pulled away gently and patted his arm, already certain he was going to make a comparison to Trish. She tossed him some new attire and searched around the room for his boots.  
  
"Dante?"  
  
"Trin?" he replied flatly, sorting whatever was throw at him. He watched her drop to her hands and knees, searching under the bed. He returned his attention to the rest of the room. There was another bed, no doubt one that Trish and Trinity shared, an open bathroom door and the little light, encased in a replaced glass tube was laying on a Mahogany side table next to Ebony and Ivory.  
  
"What's it like to die?"  
  
The question seemed to take him off guard as he looked over the new clothes, passing his fingers along the material and finally deciding that he liked it. He cocked a suspicious eyebrow at her, but she wasn't looking. A boot slid across the oriental rug at his feet, then another.  
  
"Why?" He inquired instead, stepping into the bottom half of his new clothes and slithering into the shirt. He laced up his boots and looked at her, waiting for a reply.  
  
"I just want to know what to expect," she explained, watching him approach a full-length mirror and adjust his clothing. He slid a pair of snug, knuckle-out black gloves onto his hands and wiggled his free fingers. Lastly, he put on the floor length trench coat and found Alastor leaning loyally against the wall which he seized happily, feeling at last that his outfit was complete. An eerie feeling crept over him, and he felt Alastor's electric surge tickle him slightly down his back and up again. Yet there was no one else present in the room besides them.  
  
Ignoring it, he stepped back to admire himself, combing his hair with his fingers and finally turned to face Trinity. She nodded approvingly. The look was a bit too sophisticated for Dante's character, but the deep, rich purple was a welcomed change from crimson red, and the way the material fell about his marvellous physique made him all the more desirable.  
  
"Listen, Angel," he begun, putting the guiding light into his inside pocket. "Death isn't anything you'd want to live through twice." She took his word for it as she skimmed Ebony and Ivory into their holsters at his sides. For a moment he stood there, with his hand resting over his coat pocket where the light was as though it pained him. Trinity held open the door and bowed humbly before him.  
  
"The world awaits."  
  
  
  
  
  
Outside the hotel, Dante was astounded to see that Japan bore striking similarity to America. The city was lit beautifully, a string of lamp posts sloping down a hill and leading directly into the heart of the city. The surrounding buildings towered high, and in the distance, there was a magnificent mountain, so close it seemed as though he could touch it if he walked outside the city. The setting sun shone dark orange, casting the shadow of the mountain over the city. People dotted the streets, as did cars and bicycles, interrupting the flow. Concession stands with pointed roves served America's best-the classic hotdog or hamburger, and every time Dante looked around, a vendor was offering him a deal while stuffing trinkets under his nose. It was as though they could smell him out, but he had no American money to offer them, nor did he have an interest in giving them any money.  
  
The cultural difference Dante embraced, staring at a single file line of school children in matching caps and uniforms crossing the street. The common style for adolescents seemed to be red, spiky hair, combat boots, wallet chains and various piercings decorating their faces. The air was heavy and scented with fried rice and onions-a scent that roused his dormant hunger. And somewhere in the distance, he felt faint vibrations of music. Suddenly, Dante longed for America and human companionship, he had been away from civilisation for so long-he had to restrained himself from touching things which he had not seen in years. It was as though he were seeing for the first time.  
  
Sight, sound, smell-now he wished for taste-taste and touch. Slowly, he reached his hand into Trinity's who had been waiting patiently by his side until he was ready to proceed. She didn't seem to mind his invitation as she led him down the crowded street. At last his hands had thoroughly thawed, and he was able to enjoy the radiating warmth that her hand gave him.  
  
The people, most shorter than they, glanced up at them quickly and once they passed, turned around to admire Alastor and ponder aloud in their native tongue about these foreigners. Little children altered their route home to approach them and touch them, blessing them with English "hello's" and "hi's" before they darted off whispering and laughing. This bliss-and stardom lasted only a few moments until Dante became familiar and integrated with his surroundings. He followed Trinity into a restaurant, glass doors wide open with a giant panda on the front glass grinning surrealistically.  
  
Trish was inside already, holding two seats for them. All attention was on them, eyeing them suspiciously, but their audience either decided to mind their business or figured they weren't dangerous. Trinity took a seat with Trish, leaving Dante to feed himself.  
  
How glorious was the scent that floated into his nostrils-and he found himself at the buffet, wolfing down the food as fast as he could put it on his tray. His behaviour seemed almost primitive, and heads turned to blatantly glare at him. They did not laugh or jeer as the expected American would, but they regarded him curiously and cautiously, careful not to stare too long. Yet he could not be bothered. If this is what humans-full bred mind you-indulged themselves in, then he wanted no part in trying to live his life on the borderline. Passing for human because he looked like them, but his blood would read something else. But why be less? All humans were or all they made themselves to be were social security numbers.  
  
He placed his hand over the pocket which housed the little light, overly conscious of the voices that were now competing in his head. One voice desired to be human, one voice wished to remain as he was-a demon hunter. Alastor surged again, warning him of nearby danger but as he looked around at the amused faces, he could see no threat or sense no danger. His pocket burned fiercely as the voices augmented, tearing his thoughts and judgement apart. He had no opinion-the world was a literal blur. Was he losing his sight or perhaps he was still dreaming?  
  
He lurched back, dropping the tray between his hands and fumbled toward his pocket for the light which now burned like acid into his bosom, tearing at his flesh like some leech-like parasite. He pulled it out quickly, pain twisting his face-and just as swiftly as it begun, it stopped. The voices, the burning, the confusion. He was back in tune with reality and no one was looking at him. Not Trish, not Trinity, no one. Passing a hand over his flesh to feel for damage, he stooped down to pick up his tray and a man brushed by him as though he were invisible. Alastor surged again.  
  
The same man, unattractive and unimportant made himself comfortable at the table Trish and Trinity were sitting at, quietly enjoying earthly victuals and sustenance. Trinity did not mind him in the least; she looked up once to identify him, then returned her attention to the menu she could not comprehend. Trish on the other hand, thought him important enough to provide her full attention. He was so unattractive he didn't even look human, yet, she raked her brain to try and match the face with a memory.  
  
"Can we help you?" she asked, still trying to place him. The man said nothing, maybe he couldn't understand English, but even so, he only sat there, staring into them with his vacant eyes. Trinity was not looking at him but she could feel his stare and it made her agitated and uncomfortable. Trish stared back, sensing something unjust.  
  
"Holy shit…" Trish murmured, eyes widening, noticing that the stranger was literally transforming. His hair, once black and buzzed grew out rapidly from he roots until it was white and lapping over his forehead. His features modulated completely, Oriental characteristics shaping into a more European façade. His nose pointed, his eyes squinted, and his lips thinned- then his shoulders spread as he heightened. He blinked-and his eyes turned from brown to pale green. Soon he was someone deathly familiar. His clothing too had changed-to a rich purple with red trim. Trish looked from Dante to the man, then back again. She suddenly couldn't tell the difference. Her mouth dropped open.  
  
"Oh my God…"  
  
Finally, Trinity looked up to see what all the fuss was about and "Dante" stared back. She swore violently, standing up in shock so quickly that she knocked her chair over trying to back away. Shock, surprise and horror over took her and suddenly, the Dante replica dove forward and seized her by the hand.  
  
In a flash, she felt as though part of her genetic composition had been swiped and drained from her hand into the strangers'. Equally as fast as it had turned to Dante, it began to adapt Trinity's form. It grew breasts and shrunk to a more feminine figure, taking on her golden complexion and black eyes. The white hair melted into long, black waves and it let go once complete. Immediately weakened by this experience, Trinity collapsed backwards onto the tile.  
  
The agape onlookers at this point broke into a frenzy, fleeing from the immediate area but not too far, as they were curious to see would happen next. A trait of all humans, wonder and curiosity freezing them in place, yet hasty to retreat from what they could not understand or recognise. Frightened, a woman began to scream her soul out and Dante's attention was captured. He rushed over, pocketing the light once again. He noticed Trinity on the floor, but he stopped in dead quandary when he noticed she was also standing.  
  
"What the fuck?" Alarmed, the new Trinity shoved past Dante and bolted for the exit.  
  
"Dante, no! Stop her!" Trish ordered, helping Trinity to her feet. Confused, he reached his hand back to his pocket-the light was gone. He patted his chest frantically but ceased to pull Ebony from his holster. As if cued, the entire restaurant ducked, seeking shelter under the round tables or diving to the floor. Unthoughtfully, he opened fire behind the replica which trucked through the back door and took off down the street, shaking off the bullets.  
  
Dante gave chase, leaving Trish and Trinity to fend for themselves. Down the street he pelted after it, lifting the gun every now and again only to put it down least he shoot someone. The replica, faster than Dante because it was lighter, bumped into various pedestrians in its attempt to escape. Each time there was an interaction, it assumed the identity of someone else, and each victim crumbled to the pavement in a heap. Dante began to leap over fallen bodies, keeping his eyes sharp, for one moment he was chasing a man then a woman, a child then a boy.  
  
The sidewalk, Dante decided, was too crowded, so he changed his route, running in the street and dodging cars as opposed to running into people. The little bastard was fast, too fast and Dante was heaving already. He cursed his deteriorating condition and pushed forward, leaping over two cars at a time much to the amazement of onlookers.  
  
It took a corner and clumsily tripped once, slamming into an obese man. At once it was as the fat man, and it didn't take it long to realise how slow and lumbering it was in this form. It touched the hand of the next available person, leaving them in a drained pile. It was in vain, for the previous form allowed Dante to close the gap and he was upon it before the transformation was complete. Together they crumbled into the street, screaming women and frightened men leaping apart for them to wrestle. Angered, Dante placed the nozzle into the head of the creature's new form and pulled the trigger-once- twice-ten times, empty shells clattering into the street. Much to his surprise, two blue streaks rolled from the fallen man's sides and evolved into standing, one- eyed "men." The two rolled into giant blue bats and flapped off into the night in an instant. Dante blinked once and pried the light from the clenched fist of the fallen Plasma. It turned back into its original form before it dissolved into the street, leaving Dante on his knees with the gun pointed at the pavement.  
  
"æ‚ªé­"" The witnesses screamed. Devil. Over and over again.  
  
"Hey wait! Stop!" Before he had time to recover, he looked over his shoulders at two police officers that were desperately trying to catch up to him. How would he explain this to them? He wouldn't.  
  
He picked himself up-if only he could understand-and ran to the street over, heading back in the opposite direction, toward the hotel.  
  
  
  
  
  
By the time Dante found the hotel, sweat was pouring off his body as though he had been doused with water. The entire city was in an uproar now, with talk of black magic, shape-shifting demon bats and purple devils. It was impossible for Dante to be incognito now. Every corner he turned, he found himself hiding his face and ducking back into the safety of the shadows to avoid being seen.  
  
Tiredly, he hopped the fence behind the hotel and ran around front, sprinting through the lobby and up the stairs with the end of his trench coat covering his face. He sighed with relief when approached his room door, panting heavily and heaving with fatigue. He turned the door knob only a quarter of the way before the door swung open abruptly and he was staring into the end of a double barrel shotgun that Trish was holding. Dante stepped back, surprised.  
  
"Who're you?" she demanded, with a promising finger lingering over the trigger.  
  
"…." He was stricken with perplexity as to why Trish would want to shoot him.  
  
"Wrong answer." With that, she fired off an explosive round into his face that threw her back into the room with recoil, specs of Dante's blood dotting her face. The bullets ricocheted and clattered to the floor somewhere in the hall.  
  
"ARGH!" His neck snapped backwards and his face erupted, shooting blood from his open mouth, ears and nose. He practically soared into the wall behind him, blood splattering all over the hall and rolling down into his eyes. He slapped his hands over his face, groaning with the dulling pain and slid to the floor mopping blood from his eyes.  
  
"Dante! I am so sorry, I thought you were one of them.." Trish explained, dropping the shotgun and running to his side. He climbed up the wall again and shook his hands free of gore. Streaky fingerprints painted his face, but there was no wound.  
  
"Forget it," he grumbled, staggering past her into the room, his entire world fuzzy and vibrating. With much effort, he made his way to the end of the nearest bed and sat on the edge of it, snuffing up the waterfall of blood that was steadily rolling from his nose.  
  
"Dante, I'm so sorry," Trish sheepishly apologised again, shutting the door behind them. Trinity was laying flat in the bed he was sitting on, rubbing her assaulted hand.  
  
"You ok Angel?" he asked, still bleeding. Trish tossed him a towel, face ridden with regret and guilt. Trinity nodded.  
  
"Did you get the light?"  
  
Dante reached into his pocket and tossed the light to the bed beside her, shuddering slightly at the memory of the effort he went through to get it back.  
  
"You keep it Trin," he offered, glad to be rid of it.  
  
"Trish, clean up that blood in the hall before someone sees it. We gotta get out of here, they're looking for their purple devil." He tapped his chest signifying that it was he whom he was referring to.  
  
"I'm going to hit the shower."  
  
  
  
It was refreshing to have the purity of water wash the blood from his body. It melted in clumps and was diluted in the water, rolling down into the drain at his feet. He let the water beat down on his head, feeling over his face with trembling hands for anything out of the ordinary. He was alright.  
  
His hands he now looked at, callous from pulling triggers and wrangling with Alastor or Sparda. The curse of being half demon went with the blessing: although he could heal rapidly, he was not always immune to scarring. And each time his eyes passed over these imperfections, he recalled moments of both defeat and victory. Yet he loved them. It reminded him that he was above and beyond average or extraordinary. He was a demon hunter, and with every entity he went toe to toe with, a scar was just like adding another chalk line to the wall. Still, he wondered why he had the sudden urge to be completely human. He rubbed his hand over the flesh that he once thought was burning, narrowing his eyebrows fiercely in suspicion of the light.  
  
Although he did not want to listen to the debating voices, had not the light begin to burn him, he didn't think he could tear himself away from it. After he retrieved it from the Plasma, he put it back in his pocket, fearful yet hoping that the voices would return to him, providing him ecstasy. Though with the ecstasy it brought grief. It did nothing for him but make him feel eerie after that, and giving it to Trinity was the best idea he had all night.  
  
He felt his feet slip on the tile, and he reached out his hands to anchor himself on the shower nozzles. His arms buckled at the elbows trying to suspend his weight. Dante groaned, knowing what was becoming of him and allowed himself to slip to floor, suddenly so weak. It was the death.  
  
"I'm going to kill you, Vergil." He promised aloud, nodding slightly as if in agreement with his statement.  
  
And it was decided. 


	4. All Hail Dante

Chapter 4: All Hail Dante  
  
Trinity was indulging herself in a Japanese magazine, clueless as to which way it read and which direction was up. With Dante in the shower and Trish in the hall hurriedly cleaning the mess she'd made, the room was tranquil. In the background, the television set was on very low, recalling the events that had taken place less than an hour ago concerning Dante. If ever there had been the perfect time to sleep, this was it, she decided. She pointed toward the magazine and it lifted, following her hand motions. After she directed it off the bed, she made herself comfortable on her back and closed her eyes, her hands folded gently across her chest.  
  
However, she was not satisfied in this position. Something was warm along her spine she noticed. Curious, she stuffed a hand under her and grabbed at the glass tube that held the light. It buzzed around inside its little cage, attacking the cork every now and again in a futile attempt to escape. The light's reflection shone brilliantly in her both of her black eyes that were fixed intently on it. The light stopped suddenly when it noticed that Trinity was staring at it and seemed to stare back, studying her.  
  
She narrowed her brows at it, realising that it had more sense than she gave it credit for. What was it doing? It drifted down, down to the bottom of the tube where her fingers held it and settled. It was warm. Immediately, a voice drifted in to her as though a breeze had blown by and she cocked her head inquisitively, eyes locked to the light that was steady warming her fingers. It was not a comprehensible voice at first, no, it was a whisper. What was it telling her? The whisper came again, harsher, louder. She blinked, confused, and Trish appeared standing over her, watching her with wrinkled brows.  
  
Trinity jumped slightly, surprised that she did not hear her come in. She should have been in the hall cleaning up all that blood. For all she knew, Trish probably shot him on purpose.  
  
"Did you hear it?" she asked her, "the voice?" It came again, drifting through her ears as though she was listening to a passing conversation that she was not part of. Something about Trish, it said. Trish seemed truly worried now, yet she said nothing. Ecstasy. Trinity heard yet she did not hear, she saw but still she did not see. Her fingers were on fire now and she blinked hard, bursting through some REM-like trance.  
  
There was no Trish, no voice. She looked back at the light which floated innocently to the top near the cork, levitating slightly.  
  
"Clever," she complimented, once figuring out what had happened. "Reading my subconscious were you? Treacherous little devil-craft."  
  
The bathroom door swung open and Dante walked out, heading directly for the pouch of green orbs. Trinity tossed the light to the bed once again, looking over her fingers for any burns. She almost went through a withdrawal, it felt, peculiar look about her concerning the experience with the light. She looked over at Dante who was now rubbing vigorously at the blood stains on his new attire, but dismissed it and clad himself once again, massaging the crook of his neck with one hand.  
  
Trish swung open the door and slammed it shut the second she walked in, frazzled. She had a blood-stained cloth bunched up in her right hand, but she dropped it to turn around and latch up the door.  
  
"Cops, Dante- right down the hall."  
  
This was an unexpected twist of fate, rather than being stalked by demons, it was man. Something he could not shoot least he be guilty of murder, something he could not relate to. And he didn't expect them to understand. Flight seemed to be the best alternative at this moment, and he gestured for Trish and Trinity to come to him.  
  
Quietly, they went about the room gathering what was theirs, discarding any supernatural evidence if any. There was a knock at the door, then silence. Dante did not heed to it, instead, he lifted the window with one hand, Alastor in the next and slid out onto the narrow ledge outside.  
  
He scanned the alley 6th floors below him for a landing spot, but there was nothing but a chain link fence that would impale him if he missed, a large dumpster and a few stray trashcans. If he were to jump over the fence, then he would land indefinitely on the sidewalk in the midst of people. Which is what he wished to avoid.  
  
The door pounded again, this time harder and Trinity poked her head outside by his feet, curious as to what he was doing outside. There was but one way out, evidently. Fearless, he tossed Alastor safely to the dumpster and leapt down after it, coming to a safe, planted landing somewhere in the alley. Trish popped up beside Trinity, taking in the distance with her eyes. She spotted Dante pulling out Alastor from the trash. He looked up at them, holding out his arms in gesture for them to jump.  
  
"Jump!" he commanded, impatiently waiting for one of them to follow. The door rattled behind them, giving in to forceful blows from the police officers. Trish tossed out Force Edge and the shotgun, then wiggled out the small window and leapt down without a second thought, gliding herself toward a safe spot next to Dante. He caught her anyway and set her down beside him, looking up trying to anticipate where Trinity would land next.  
  
She jumped out last, a little less than free- falling and safely landed in Dante's awaiting arms. He staggered back with the impact, then set her down, turning his back to rummage through the dumpster for Force Edge and the shotgun. Trinity pulled the light out of her kimono pocket quickly, not wanting to interact with it for too long, and let it go. It floated out but didn't start off right away.  
  
Just then, a gunshot went off, then another. Trish looked up at the open bedroom window where they jumped from at the two police officers that were leaning out taking blind shots at them. A bullet whizzed by her and she jumped back, covering her face with her arms.  
  
Alarmed, Dante dragged out the remaining weapons and darted quickly for cover behind the dumpster. He couldn't afford to waste a vital star on account of a bullet wound. The supply was limited, and unless he was mortally in danger, he would not use anymore.  
  
The girls huddled beside him, covering themselves from the sparks that kicked up every time a bullet braised against the metal dumpster.  
  
"Shit!" Dante swore at the bullet that nicked his shoulder, coming a little too close to seriously injuring him. He felt his hands drift toward Ebony and Ivory, but stopped himself once he remembered that it was not the immortal he was dealing with. He would have wait them out instead. A sneer fixed across his face, angry that he could not retaliate, and banged a fist against the dumpster to relieve his anger.  
  
There was a brief period of silence when the bullets stopped, and bravely, Trish peeped up over the dumpster at the men in the window. They were reloading. Taking advantage of their situation, they bolted from behind their cover, down the alley with all intention of completely being lost in the darkness.  
  
  
  
  
  
Walking silently together in the dark, three a breast in this fashion: Trish, Dante, and Trinity. Perhaps Dante chose the middle position in this formation, huddled between them because it some how made him feel safe and comforted. Or maybe somewhere in his subconscious, it was hidden symbolism that he was not aware of. He had Trish to his right, by his dominant arm because she was his number one, and her being of more importance she rightfully belonged near the right arm. Trinity was to his left, equally important, but just as the left arm she was a backup, the second in command.  
  
Dante often wondered how it was possible for him to live with two women, yet have no emotional relationship with them in that sense. It was not a question of his sexuality, but it was true that his work put him in a position to be a lonely man. It was possible for him to have the company of women at will, physical or otherwise, yet he was satisfied with this alone. He did not wish to be bound to the ties of commitment.  
  
Perchance, they walked in silence because they were intently fixed on the light, overly conscious of its evil. The light had sensed this, and it floated ahead at a safe distance, leading them through back alleys, under and over fences in the back part of the city. Between buildings Trish would stare every time they passed, longing to walk in the light as though she were a determined moth, fighting for a chance at the flame. She drifted toward the street every time she had a shot, but Dante would pull her back by the arm and shake his head. He refused to walk in public until the purple devil epidemic blew over completely.  
  
Only after a few miles did Dante start to huff, aware that his body was again breaking down, but he ignored it as Trish and Trinity tried to ignore it as well. They looked at him from the corner of their eyes, knowing he would not appreciate it if they tried to intervene without his consent.  
  
Trinity scanned the area they were in with her eyes, noting that they had long since left the heart of the city and was currently drifting towards a back street to some decrepit and dilapidated buildings. Finally, her lack of trust took the best of her, and she blurted:  
  
"I don't trust that light…"  
  
As though relieved that Trinity had addressed the situation first, Trish nodded in agreement.  
  
"I don't trust it anymore than you do," she added, "there's something unjust about it."  
  
Trinity, eager to share what she had discovered, started, "it reads your subconscious. I know this because deep down, I didn't trust you, Trish. And when I had it, for a moment I thought you purposely shot Dante."  
  
Trish wrinkled her eyebrows in objection and Dante scoffed heavily, almost finding humour in her accusations. She continued despite their dubious expressions.  
  
"And you didn't throw me the light because you didn't trust me either, Trish." She said, matter-of-factly.  
  
Trish's face lightened, giving in to surprise. Surprised that Trinity had been so certain and so accurate, she looked to Dante's stolid face and he glared back from the corner of his eyes as if daring her to deny it.  
  
"I may have had some misconceptions of you, Trinity." She admitted softly.  
  
Dante did not contravene nor admit that Trinity was right, but most likely she was. Only he knew that sometimes, buried somewhere deep in him that he did wish to put aside Alastor and be human. Even with the light, his will was too strong. Still, he did not wish to voice this and he kept silent. He placed a hand insensibly on the area of the once burning flesh and frowned slightly.  
  
"Dante?" Trish prepped, hoping that he would at least open up and share what had been his encounter with the light.  
  
"It doesn't matter now," he replied softly, he too finally taking note of where they were. All conversation ceased promptly.  
  
The light had led them into pure, unaltered darkness. There were no street lights, no more pedestrians, nothing. Trish looked behind her, stepping closer toward Dante for reassurance but pressed on with them with her sweaty palms holding fast to the shotgun in her arms. The light zipped forward to the end of the alley, shot across the deserted street and anxiously buzzed about the entrance to a shut down subway station. It darted through the barred dark entrée and waited seemingly impatiently for them to follow. Dante felt his stomach churn with expectation and excitement, because a part of him felt that Vergil would be down there, and this escapade would soon be over. And part of him was nervous that he might find exactly what he came looking for.  
  
Trish reached the entrance first, and peered between faded yellow police lines and weather rotted wood where the light had darted through. It was beyond dark.  
  
"We need a flashlight," Trish commented, dashing her hand through an old cobweb that hung between the planks of wood which stood between them and the descending stairs.  
  
"Fuck the flashlight," Dante mumbled, walking up beside her and driving his boot into the planks, shattering the wood apart just enough for them to enter. He pulled Alastor from its post at his back.  
  
"Stay behind me," he commanded, ducking through first and carefully starting down the dark staircase. The light was only visible in this darkness and they followed it carefully, trusting that it would lead them out, testing their grounds before taking another step. The concrete beneath their feet was sturdy enough, they decided after the first few yards, and they picked up the pace confidently.  
  
The subway echoed with every movement they made. Each time Dante took a step down, Alastor's metal edge would fall to the next step making a loud clank as he dragged it behind him. Trinity had her hand sliding down the railing for support, her heart fighting inside her body the deeper they declined. Trish had her blue eyes peeled open, trying her dandiest to see any other light than the one before them, quietly stumbling every step or so.  
  
Finally, the stairs ceased and they were on level ground again, pawing the darkness for any walls or support poles. Trinity grabbed at Dante instead, latching onto him so they would not be separated and Trish soon bumped into her, holding onto her arms from behind. Dante glanced over his shoulder at them with a displeased look about him although they could not read his expression.  
  
The light now, aware that it was not bright enough to withstand this severe darkness, upgraded a size, now able to illuminate the immediate area around them. This transformation came as a shock to them, and Dante looked down, realising that his feet were dangling off the edge of the ground floor. He was hovering over the tracks below him thus he hopped down and escorted the girls with him.  
  
"I don't understand why Vergil would be down here," Trinity started, continually looking at Alastor for any signs. She was disappointed every time. Dante silently agreed but was hesitant to give up and turn back now despite the established uncertainty of the light.  
  
Dante bravely led the way, following the light around every turn and corner on the rickety tracks until he was no longer churning with anticipation, but dubious. Trinity pressed on because she could not see to turn back, and Trish was too loyal to abandon Dante now. All faith had been lost in the light, then Dante felt a faint rumbling below his feet. It was more of a vibration that tickled him from the bottom up in some rhythmic pattern, a faint, short vibration, then another. He furrowed his eyebrows curiously and squinted down at the tracks. Tiny little pieces of rubble and stones jumped up slightly and bounded along the tracks.  
  
Anxious to find out where the light was leading them now, he ran ahead around the next corner, Trish and Trinity at his heels. The light accelerated as well, shooting straight ahead until there was another faint light greeting them. Dante stopped first and widened his eyes at the structure before him that was pouring out incomprehensible music. Right there, in the heart of the tunnel, was some sort of congregation. The structure was impressive enough for its location, completely blocking further passage into the tunnel. The name of the building was inscribed across the top in neon with Japanese characters. Evidently not just a congregation, but a club.  
  
Yet this was no general club, it was reserved for the select few who knew of its existence, and there was no diverse assemblage. The heavy scent of cigarette stained the atmosphere even outside the club, where a few pairs laughed among themselves, or the drunk lay propped up against the side of the club, passed out. Dante was not completely disappointed, but he was a far cry from ecstatic. Trish walked up beside him, equally astonished and begun to decipher the characters across the top. She was immediately crestfallen, and she frowned heavily upon translation.  
  
"Dante…" she started, following him again now that he was heading toward the entrance.  
  
"That says the Melancholy Soul..."  
  
Ignoring her presence, he was now fully aware that he had been mislead the entire time. He was certain there would be no Vergil, and at once he was blatantly disappointed. He felt a rage slowing building up inside him. The little hairs on the back of his neck stood erectly, and he felt a deep growl trying to surface in his throat. He clenched his fists in order to keep his hands occupied, for he was tempted to start blasting any and everything in sight. Especially that light.  
  
The interior of the Melancholy Soul was engulfed in darkness. The only light was a dim, green bulb that accented the immediate area of the club. The corners of the club hid sadist couples, participating in various sexual acts and visually insulting obscenities. Most of these bodies were lost behind a veil of cigarette smoke that lingered even heavier inside the club. The left hand side of the club was a wet bar, and the right side was reserved for cluttered, dancing bodies, screaming Japanese lyrics to the heavy alternative music that was playing louder than necessary.  
  
Trinity finally showed up beside Dante and stood agape at the Satanic symbols and writings that chalked the wall. Not only were they redundant on the walls, but tattooed on the arms of many occupants. It was more than just a club it seemed, it was a cult. Dante began to glow faintly, a faint surge of electricity trickling up and down though his body. They had been blatantly fooled and misled by this light, and more importantly, by Rayne Tsu. It was not from each other that the betrayal came, it was from a non present existence. The Melancholy Soul was not a soul, but a club. And Vergil? He probably had nothing to do with it. Yet this did not explain his slow demise…  
  
In the far end of the club, where they had neglected to notice, stood an altar. It was guarded simply by a chain that went around it at four corners, and on the altar was a bust. It was not Mundus who they worshiped, it was a derivative. The bust replicated non other than the infamous one himself, whom Dante sought after, Vergil. In front of the bust stood a few disciples, chanting and nodding their respects to the statue. Dante couldn't believe it. Vergil had his own cult, an entire series of followers that foolishly admired him. They must have been aware of the Legend.  
  
Dante, as though drawn forward by an invisible force, walked over to the statue until he felt his abdomen pressed up against the surrounding chain, and he was nose to nose with the depiction of Vergil. Trish and Trinity meanwhile found themselves in a staring competition with the inhabitants of the Melancholy Soul. They glared at them unwelcome, and they glared back, undaunted. They too had wasted their time with this excursion.  
  
Next to Dante, a young woman was rapidly exchanging glances with him and the statue. She had somehow linked Dante to Vergil, but she incorrectly assumed that Dante was he whom she worshiped. Elated, she exclaimed something in Japanese to the others and Dante was immediately swarmed with excited disciples, ignorantly reaching out hands to touch him and whisper in awe among themselves. It only took a moment for the music to stop completely and soon, everyone, inside and out, had formed a gathering around Dante who looked on at them quizzically.  
  
He was no fool, however, and it struck him that they thought he, was Vergil. His back to the alter now, he began slapping away hands that lovingly tugged at his clothing and fondled his face. Trish and Trinity were in the back of the crowd, standing on tip-toes to get a glimpse of what was happening up front. Suddenly, as if cued, the disciples dropped to their knees and bowed humbly before Dante who was more insulted than honoured. And it fuelled his rage.  
  
"Is this your God?" he asked them, aware that English was not an optional language. By now his brows had sloped so fiercely down his face that they formed a deep 'V' down his forehead. They looked up at him and whispered among themselves in the crowd. Angered, Dante brought his arm back and slapped the bust clear off the alter, and it fell backwards onto the floor with a great thud, shattering into three large pieces. A frightened gasp detonated through out the audience.  
  
"Am I your God?!" he yelled, the demon in him fighting to emerge and reek havoc on the audience of fools.  
  
"Get up! I am NOT your creator!" Already furious that the entire trip had been for naught, being mistaken for Vergil only added coals to the fire. He connected his boot into the face of a young man on the floor before him, and he fell back howling in pain.  
  
"Dante, no!" Trish scolded, trying to step over the frightened clan to get to him. But he would not take telling nor succumb to his conscience. Before Trish could get a quarter of the way, Dante had Alastor out swinging in every direction with all intentions of destroying them. The mass, as quickly as they went down, sprung to their feet and bolted to the exit screaming and shoving each other out of the way. Trinity, completely taken off guard was swept backwards in the sea of frightened individuals. Dante was not satisfied with a hasty retreat, thus he brought out Ebony and Ivory. Soon after, his targets began to crumble to the floor in pain, withering from the stinging of gunshot wounds. Trish, although determined to stop his violent outburst, ducked from the gunfire that rang out as though a machine gun was going off. Bottles exploded and screams of terror filled Trinity's ears, who was on the floor covering her body from the feet that trampled her.  
  
Even the light, which had been so loyal in leading them fled; it zipped over the heads of the retreating disciples and disappeared into the tunnel. It was evident that Dante would not stop until he was satisfied. Not even Trish who was pleading with him, could reach him as the voice of reason. He leapt over a fallen table and grabbed the collar of one fleeing person who was begging for his life in his native tongue. He dropped Ebony to the floor, and with his newly free hand, he grabbed another unlucky fool who was in the back of the crowd by the hair and dragged him to the floor, all the while swearing and plummeting them with blows.  
  
The women weren't given any mercy either, and his latest victim was just that, a woman. He ceased her by the pony tail and literally lifted her back to him, hate filling his eyes. He brought Ivory to her screaming face and slapped her so viciously she was knocked unconscious. The next object in his hand was a chair, and he flung it into the departing crowd, knocking down a few and stumbling others.  
  
He grabbed another chair and was going to bring it down heavily on the back of a young man that was scrambling away on the floor, but just as he was about to bring it down, he felt it suspended above his head, prohibiting him from inflicting any more damage.  
  
"Trinity! Let me go!" he growled, glaring in her direction. She shook her head and pulled the chair away from his grasp, allowing the young man to get up and run out the door. Dante, not discouraged by this, bent over to pick up Ebony and Ivory. As soon as his fingertips connected with the metal, it slid across the floor away from him, and Ivory followed. Irate in his heart, he did not order Trinity to stop. Instead, he pulled Alastor from his back and drove the blade through a table as opposed to the few suffering bodies that bled at their feet. His chest heaving, with the last bit of rage still in his body, he punted a broken chair over the bar into the wall of alcohol.  
  
There was silence among the three, but the few who remained on the floor groaned in agony. Trish rushed over to Dante and grabbed his arm gently, but he shrugged her off and gave her a look she had only seen once before when he told her she had no soul.  
  
"Dante, relax…" Trinity stared, picking up Ebony and handing it to him.  
  
"Don't tell me to relax!" he bellowed, stepping over the unconscious woman. He snatched up Ivory and put it back in its holster at his side. He looked down into her face, feeling his honour, respect and pride flee from him. Trish tried again to touch him compassionately, but he intercepted her hand and shoved her aside slightly. He did not wish to hurt her.  
  
"Don't touch me. Don't touch me, and don't tell me to relax! That light sent us on a wild goose chase! Don't tell me to relax when we're fucking with my life!" He picked up Alastor and put it on his back again, trembling with the aftermath of his rage.  
  
"We were betrayed! By a light!" Trinity sighed heavily, as did Trish, both silently agreeing with him. One of the survivors, cradling his leg, hopped to his feet and stumbled out through the door. Dante looked at him, but let him go. Suddenly, it hit him, and he peeled his eyes open, turned around briskly and firmly seized Trish by the wrist .  
  
"Where did you get that devil-craft?" He questioned. Trinity answered for her.  
  
"Rayne Tsu."  
  
He looked back over his shoulder at her, leaning on Force Edge again.  
  
"Who is Rayne Tsu?" He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "You know what? I don't care…Take me there."  
  
Trish started to stammer and explanation but he placed a finger over her lips and shushed her gently.  
  
"As soon as you can Trish, please." That was the last thing he said before he whisked around again, stepped over the groaning disciples and started into the dark tunnel. Trinity swallowed hard, stunned from Dante's out of character behaviour. Trish ran her fingers through her hair, exhaling through her clenched teeth. How could they ever have trusted a foreign source? 


	5. The Fall Of A Hero

Chapter 5: The Fall of a Hero  
  
  
  
Dante had to completely relocate. Luckily, not everyone knew of the Purple Devil's existence, and they wouldn't be around long enough for the story to leak out of him shooting up a cult.  
  
He led Trish and Trinity into a different hotel outside Tokyo, well aware that he needed repose and soon, a green orb. He leaned up against the front desk in the lobby, counting the remainder of his money out in front of the receptionist who was staring very hard at Alastor and Force Edge. He ordered the same accommodations as the previous hotel, sliding over his drivers license. The receptionist took it, narrowing her brows in suspicion at Dante. There was no last name or date of birth, but she accepted it without question. Even in the physical world, Dante remained a mystery.  
  
  
  
It was not necessary for Dante to voice his apology, and anyway, he never did. His regret was evident through his actions. He apologised with sad eyes, softer words, and it was the only time he was truly compassionate and genuine with the girls. Yet, despite his devilish outbursts from time to time, he was continually adored, and would forever be forgiven by them.  
  
He lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling with an unreadable expression on his face. Trish blessed him with a relaxing massage prior, and was currently out retrieving food for them. Trinity had been out exploring the area for the past forty-five minutes, giving him time to be alone and think. It was during this time that he established that he was currently fighting a battle that he was inevitably going to loose. And to some unknown force at that. He would probably never know what it was, either. It wasn't like him to give up so easily, but, thinking quite rationally, he didn't have enough green orbs to keep him alive much longer.  
  
He decided, unbeknownst to Trish and Trinity, that once he had used up the last green orb, there would be no more fighting, no more quest to find answers. How greatly was he needed? The world got along fine before him, and they would soon get along without him. It was only fair that death would be his reward, an eternal rest that every man was promised. Why should he be denied this fate? Dante had with much difficulty, accepted the death that would soon take him, but he couldn't help but wonder if Trish and Trinity would accepted it and his decision to stop fighting.  
  
The door sprung open and Trinity floated in. She did not tread the earth when she walked, she was very quiet and very gentle. It was almost as if she never touched the ground. She disturbed nothing, and destroyed nothing underfoot. She was truly an angel in her actions and in her beauty, but she could be a devil when necessary. She smiled greatly at him, something she did not do often enough, and went over to his bedside. He did not, and could not return her smile.  
  
"My ace. Feeling well?" she asked, taking his face in her hands. He reached up his hands and grasped her around the wrists gently, staring at his reflection in her dark eyes. He would miss her, her fire, her compassion- all these things that were part of her final composition. The memories would be the only thing he could take with him-assuming he could. Her smile faded slightly when she realised that he was doing nothing more than grasping her wrists and glaring at her intently with his pale eyes.  
  
"Trinity…I'm dying…" To him, it was an admittance, his acceptance speech. To her, he'd said it as though she didn't already know. Even though, there was still some great degree of hurt in her eyes because she didn't want to be reminded.  
  
"Aren't we all? Some more quickly than others," she smirked quickly, jeering his condition. Dante was no more humorous than he usually was.  
  
"Trinity," he started softly, "I need you to do me a favour."  
  
  
  
The trip back to Sredne Kolymsk was just as tedious and just as long with the exception of any demonic attacks. Dante had no identity-thus no passport. Trish and Trinity didn't even exist. As a result of this, it was impossible to use public transportation such as the aeroplane, which would have taken them there and back nine times over. Eventually, with much difficulty, they managed to hitch a ride on a fishing ship that promised to take them as far as Magaáan. From then on, they were on their own.  
  
For three days they'd been on that ship eating nothing but fish when starvation compelled them to eat. The little nameless ship rocked ferociously against the waves, throwing the ship to and fro, this way and that until the waters calmed. Even then would they feel the waves smashing into the side of it, stumbling them if they were standing. Contrary to the Ruhige Reise shipmates, everyone on this ship spoke Japanese. Again, they were alienated.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Dante leaned over the rusty railing, peering at the faded horizon. It was mid -afternoon yet the weather was horribly rainy and windy. Only now did the rain stop, and Dante went out to savour the fresh air. He felt the ship rock and tumble over every wave, and every direction it went, he went with it. The entire boat reeked of iced fish, the only scent he could smell because it was dominant, and still after three days he could not build an immunity to that fresh, putrid smell. It was getting noticeably colder the further north they travelled, he noticed. They must have been approaching Magaáan.  
  
He reached into his outside pocket and pulled out the remaining green orb, looking at it in his open palm. After this, there was no more. Regretfully, he pressed it into his skin until it liquidated and dissolved into his pores. Every time he powered up it was as if he was falling in reverse. Too bad he wouldn't live long enough to get used to that.  
  
Dante would not alarm the girls of this lack of supply. He chose to keep them ignorant, least they object to his "suicide". Dragging his hands through his damp hair, he exhaled heavily; the anticipation to squeeze answers from Rayne made him restless, and impatient.  
  
  
  
Dante had been very detached from reality, Trish noticed, but she assumed that he was still upset over the wasted trip. Just as Trinity, she was disappointed that the light-the devil-craft, could be so malicious, misleading and untrustworthy. But unlike Trinity, she was blaming herself. When would she learn to trust Dante, and solely Dante? She was huddled up in front of a furnace with a few of the shipmates, glancing at Trinity in the far corner of the room by herself as usual.  
  
Trinity was freezing, occupying her time and her mind by spinning Force Edge on its tip over and over until it dizzied her. Too cold to concentrate now, she allowed it to clatter to the floor, glancing out the porthole above her at the frost that heavily caked it. They must have been in the Magaáan area, otherwise there was no excuse for that kind of intolerable weather. It was actually snowing lightly for the first time since they lived in the Solviet Republic.  
  
  
  
Dante walked in through the open door, fully aware that the ship was coming to a standstill. Vapour fogged from his slightly parted lips, his fair skin pale from the weather.  
  
"Come on, we're here." There was a certain eagerness in his eyes, and Trinity feared that he would sooner wish to find Rayne than head home to the DNC. Trish looked back at him and sighed with relief, picking up the shotgun at her feet that somehow hadn't lost its way. She couldn't wait to appreciate solid ground again.  
  
With their land legs long forgotten, they staggered off the ship onto the snow, Dante leading the way. Dante longed for his bed and for rest, but he would be sleeping forever soon enough. He knew well within his heart that he would never see another sunrise, he wouldn't even make it another five hours. Thus, he turned to face Trish who was swallowed inside her arms trying to keep warm.  
  
"I want to go tonight, Trish."  
  
Trish was in utter disbelief, and for a moment she thought there was no end to Dante. Her eyes widened.  
  
"Can't we go tomorrow?" she stammered, beginning to shiver uncontrollably. He hated to rush this so much, but death was not restricted to earthly limitations such as time. It knew not time, it knew not race, sex, age or creed. Death knew death. And death knew Dante.  
  
"No." He didn't expect his authority to be challenged by her, and it wasn't.  
  
"Why?" Trinity inquired, stamping around in the snow to keep her body active.  
  
"The devil is into details..." he warned simply. His answer did not appease her, but again she did not voice her dissatisfaction. Trish made her anguish known with a deep grunt.  
  
"We won't have to walk." he promised softly, starting off toward one of the snow capped buildings. He returned momentarily, with two deep blue snowmobiles, a crooked smile fixed on his iced lips.  
  
  
  
Dante mentally but himself on auto pilot. After a while he was simply following Trish with a one track mind; nothing else existed but her. Every now and again he could see her riding through the down pour of snow that kicked up from her snowmobile, her infinite hair snapping in the wind. The snow exhaust splattered over his face and neck, but it didn't matter to him. When you're dying, you appreciate everything, even little things that would otherwise be an annoyance.  
  
They travelled for a little over an hour and a half in the glacial weather. Dante was so absent minded, it hadn't even registered to him that Trish had pulled over. Even though he didn't manually get there, he was breathing as if he'd ran all the way to Sredne Kolymsk. It must have been none other than the warning signs of oncoming death-signs he would not heed to. Trish touched him lightly to get his attention and he finally seemed to snap back into attention. It was truly freezing outside.  
  
"OK Dante, we're here," Trish said, climbing off the snow mobile. She was topped with snow; her face had lost its complexity, her hands were stiff, and her body ached from riding in a haunched position. Even so, there was something seductively attractive about her. The first thing he did was rip Ivory from its frozen holster before he slid off the mobile. Trinity lingered a while after him, flopping forward where he once sat and running her fingers through her hair which she could not feel. Even half-devils tired. Dante, trembling again with anticipation and possible frostbite, half-ran, half-walked toward the front door and barged through it uninvited. If revenge was the last act he committed before he died, so be it.  
  
It was hot inside, a lot hotter than Devil Never Cry would ever be and hot enough to make them appreciate the sub-zero temperature outside.  
  
"Please don't do anything hasty…" Trish begged, trying to keep pace with him. He was side-scooting through the narrow hall, calling daringly out to Rayne Tsu. He coughed heavily once the inexhaustible scent of pot- pourri dove into his nostrils.  
  
Trinity did not bother to scold him or attempt to stop him from any violent act. Rayne would deserve whatever it had coming to it. Dante waltzed into the small living room and was evidently surprised by the size of the dwellings, but he did not savour it nor care to waste his time being too amazed with it. Trinity walked in last, as usual, folded her arms across her chest and leaned up against a wall tiredly. Already she began to thaw.  
  
Rayne Tsu came in alas with an alarmed, quizzical look about it, the infamous light buzzing about it excitedly. By now, Dante's breathing had reduced drastically, but again he put the death behind him and pointed the gun down at Rayne. Remembering the wild goose chase that Rayne had sent them on, all the rage flooded back to him.  
  
"Come here, you little fuck."  
  
Flabbergasted, Rayne attempted to back out of the room, but Dante seized it under the arms and shoved it up against the fireplace. He drove his foot into the fireplace and stamped out the fire in hopes of reducing the sweltering heat. At first, he just held it there against the wall, staring blankly at it and vice versa. A bead of sweat began to trickle down his face. Death was coming fast.  
  
Finally, he barked, "why did you betray us?! Who are you?!" He pulled back on the gullet and placed the cold nozzle to Rayne's temple. It chuckled slightly.  
  
"What does it matter now?" Rayne's nonchalant behaviour was frustrating.  
  
"Don't fuck with me!" He drove Rayne into the wall again, too weak to be absolutely furious. Once more he ignored the strain of death.  
  
"Why did you lie to me?! To Trish? I'll fuck you up right now you-" His arms dropped slightly and Rayne slipped, but he tightened his grasp, suddenly alarmed that Rayne was beginning to get too heavy for him. A blood rush flooded his vision. Already his feet began to give. Trinity pushed off from the wall in alarm, but she didn't immediately interfere. Trish stood on her guard as well.  
  
Rayne chuckled loudly, aware of what was happening. "The end is near for you, Sparda. I doubt you will kill me now least you never know what ails you." She spoke confidently, peering into the falling hero's dying eyes. Realisation set in hard for him. An unknown, dishonourable death was hovering over him. This trip too was for naught. He had already promised himself to die and finding out now would be totally useless. Defeated again, God help him.  
  
"Mundus is your master?" He was surprised as to how incredibly shrill and cracked his voice came. This amused Rayne something terrible. She nodded proudly. Dante slipped again, dropping Rayne completely and together they crumbled to the floor in a small heap, Ivory pitching from his hand when he held them out to absorb the fall. He was loosing edge. Trinity patted her pockets frantically for an orb as Trish ran over and grabbed his arm.  
  
"Dante, come on, get up…" She tried to pull him to his knees but he slid his arm from her grasp.  
  
"No…leave me…" he rasped, pawing the ground for his gun. His vision too was failing him. He gave up and pulled out Ebony instead. Rayne, straddled below his weight widened its eyes.  
  
"Damn your troubled soul to hell for deceiving me."  
  
The Grim Reaper had his feet yet again. He placed the gun to its head, although he was seeing more than one Rayne. Trish was alarmed at this action at once.  
  
"Don't do it! Rayne is the only one that knows what's killing you!"  
  
Killing you. Those haunting words echoed in his head over and over again. He suddenly didn't care anymore. The gun went off and Trish and Trinity jumped, surprised that Dante had killed Rayne. Its body lay motionless under his own. Trish was stricken with shock.  
  
"Dante…"  
  
He put his hand out to stop her, kneeling dazed and damn near paralysed. Trinity hurried over to assist Trish in lifting him to his feet, draping an arm over her shoulder to hoist him up.  
  
"Don't you have any more orbs? Oh God, Trinity…Tell me you do." Trinity said nothing because her throat was as tight as a tourniquet; she could hardly swallow. If she opened her mouth now she'd be inaudible. Instead, she shook her head.  
  
"N-no Trish. That's it-game over…" He accepted, defeated at last. "Game over."  
  
  
  
By the time they'd got Dante upstairs to his bed at the DNC, his body was heavy with dead weight. He couldn't help himself anymore; he was as useless as the day he was on the island, with Death knocking at his door. This time, he would answer it. He lay flat on his back staring up at the ceiling above his head, Alastor clutched tightly in his hands. Trinity sat patiently at his bedside, listening to Trish turn Devil Never Cry upside down in hopes of finding a yellow orb or vital star. His breathing was shallow and rapid; his chest rose and fell as though his lungs could hold no more than a teaspoon of breath at a time. He closed his eyes finally, exhaling deeply.  
  
"Angel," he said flatly. Trinity raised her head slightly but didn't respond. It came to her awareness that the term "broken heart," was a self explanatory, literal definition.  
  
"The only promise in life is death."  
  
His voice was but a hushed whisper and he was slipping fast, but still he called for Trish in his best half conscious voice. But it would not carry, and Trinity called out to her instead. Her frantic footsteps were heard scrambling up the steps until she finally appeared in the doorway, a look of question on her face. Was he already dead?  
  
She sat down gently at the edge of his bed and peered down into her ace's handsome face.  
  
"Dante?" She choked. He managed to smirk slightly and open his eyes once more. He had to see her face one last time, his beautiful, number one. He was twitching slightly with the last bit of vitality in him wrestling death.  
  
"Goodnight Ace," Trinity said finally, leaning over and kissing him on the cheek. Never the one to hint disappointment, she concealed her breaking heart behind a impassive countenance.  
  
"Godspeed," Trish added, kissing the other side of his face. He was already dead. He was dead before she even leaned over, Alastor clutched between his pale hands. The handle rested on his chest, and the blade lay straight all the way down between his legs. Even in his death he would not part with it. Trinity passed her hand over his eyes to close them, and Trish pulled his sheets up over his face.  
  
For fifteen minutes, there was nothing but the absolute static of silence. Within that time, Trish wanted to hate Dante for leading her all that way to just die. Lay down and die with a smug expression stretched across his lips.  
  
"I-I can't believe he just gave up.." she stammered alas, pushing the waterfall of hair behind her shoulders. Trinity leaned back in the chair, propped her feet up on the end of the bed and lapped them. She studied Trish momentarily, then guided her gaze down at Dante's long, white silhouette under the sheets.  
  
"He merely gave up his throne, Trish. Someone else will replace him, naturally." She stood up with a heavy grunt and gently slid the chair away from the bed with her foot. Trish couldn't believe how indifferent Trinity was acting.  
  
"How long do you think that will be?" she asked, restraining herself from throwing her body across Dante's and pleading for his return.  
  
"Give me nine months." Came the nonchalant reply.  
  
  
  
Working on Part II. Give me time. Hope you enjoyed Part I. I didn't. -Trinity 


	6. Resurrection

Part II: Devils Never Cry  
  
Dante: ?-2002  
  
Resurrection: 2027  
  
  
  
  
  
He died without struggle, with a smug expression stretched across his handsome visage in two thousand and two. He had been supposedly dead for twenty-five years, and it was in this condition he sought to stay. But forever was out of the question.  
  
A pulse began to flutter lightly in the young hero's body, draining the colour back into his face. Intravenously, coagulated blood began to rush oxygen into his lungs and his chest rose greatly: his first breath in twenty- five years. It burned, it ached his body for only a moment until it was pleasing. He exhaled heavily, a cloud of dust blew out from his cracked lips and nostrils. There was a thin layer of dead skin covering him.  
  
He coughed. It was then that he realised that he was conscious. Then if he was conscious, he was alive. Yet, how could this be? He sat up slowly, the stiff white sheets falling from his chest and torso. He was alive. He blinked a few times, trying to clear his head and focus. Where was he? Heaven? Hell? Purgatory?  
  
A loud clattering noise startled him. Alastor had fallen from his lap and onto the floor. His mouth, dry as cotton and sealed shut, practically stuck his tongue to the roof of his mouth. He clicked it a few times to get the saliva flowing. He was still in Devil Never Cry. He swung his legs over the bed, the material of his clothing stiff and cracking. The rich purple had faded to a pale violet and the deep red trim was a rusty orange. Even still splats of dried blood stained his attire. The leather of his boots held well until he planted his two feet firmly on the floorboards below him. It cracked and tore like little crevasses along the boot, certain parts chipping off altogether. His movements were rigid and awkward, but it was excusable. He'd been in that horizontal positioning for so long he felt faint to be standing again, but he managed to make it to the door and try the rusty knob, which all but fell apart in his hands, and the door swung open slowly.  
  
D.N.C was decrepit, frozen, and desolate. The weather rotted wood was brittle, and whatever furnishings he had was stuck in their positions to the carpet. There was a thin layer of frost underfoot, and a fierce wind ripped through the upstairs corridor. He made his way downstairs with the aid of the banister and looked about him, memory after memory returning when his eyes passed over the familiar.  
  
Downstairs the fireplace wood had crumbled and rotten in, and everything was gone. Sparda, Force Edge, the Shotgun, Nightmare Beta- everything. The picture of his mother on the front desk was practically invisible behind the veil of frost that covered it. He picked it up and brushed the frost away from her face with his thumb. He shivered, realising now that the front door was wide open, and a pile of snow was hardened in the immediate entrance. Dante stepped up on the snow and walked outside onto the front porch that was also smothered in snow. He scoped out his surroundings-quiet, frozen, white.  
  
He was alone.  
  
  
  
  
  
Trish slid a light silk robe over her exposed body, quickly walking from her bedroom to living room. She grabbed a handgun from a side table on her way to the front door, loading in a magazine. Whomever it was pounding on her apartment door at 5am deserved to be shot. It wasn't a courteous knock-then a brief period of patient waiting. No-it was an incessant pounding, an annoyance. Frustrated, Trish ripped the chain from the door and had opened it just a crack when a blurry hand dove in a pointed a gun nozzle under her chin. Surprised, she lifted her gun to the intruder's head in return. But he was undaunted, forcing himself in and kicking the door shut behind him.  
  
"You left me. Devil." He growled.  
  
Her eyes widened at the familiarity of the stranger's voice. Although all logic would compel disbelief, her pulse pounded so much, her trembling body caused the gun to slip from her hand and clatter to the floor.  
  
"Dante?!" she gasped, falling into him and gripping his forearms. She ran her fingers through his hair and brought his face down to see him. He dropped his gun and placed his hands on her shoulders to steady her.  
  
"Take it easy, Trish." It was him. Breathless, she wrapped her arms tightly around his body, running her hands over Alastor. It'd been so long since she'd felt Dante-living-breathing. Alive.  
  
He embraced her briefly, glad for the tenderness of touch. Glad for the reunion. Trish pulled away first, purely astonished.  
  
"Dante…you're alive…"  
  
He tucked Ivory back into his holster, peering at her deeply. As beautiful, full-figured and ageless as the day he died.  
  
"You left me," he said again flatly.  
  
  
  
There was a stack of plates on Dante's left, six empty glasses on the table before him, one of which was Trish's. Twenty-five years without sustenance and his body began to feed on itself. Trish watched quietly across from him, shovelling half of a 22oz steak between his teeth. There hadn't been a moment of pause since his meal began. Trish rested back in her chair, silently taking in the- ironically-gorgeous vision before her. Death had run him ragged, growing out his wild white hair and fingernails, with an uneven stubble of facial hair decorating his face. Even so, she managed to find the diamond in the rough.  
  
Moments later he was finished and pushed the plate away from him, releasing a deep belch, tossing all discretion out the window. It was time to play twenty questions.  
  
"There're so many things I want to ask you…" his voice trailed off at the end of the sentence as he rested his elbows on the table.  
  
"What have you been doing-"  
  
"-for the past twenty-five years, Dante?" She finished his sentence for him, as though she were reading his mind. Dante looked shocked.  
  
"Twenty-five years?! That means I'm…"  
  
"Yeah. I work out of my apartment taking private domestic violence cases, or anyone that wants a deserving somebody to get rubbed out. For the right sum, of course."  
  
"Going behind the law, Trish?" He asked, patting down his pockets for a cigarette. He was disappointed. Trish sighed heavily.  
  
"Dante, there IS no law. After you died-after Trini-" She abrupt her own sentence, rethinking it, and started again in a hushed whisper.  
  
"After you died twenty-five years ago, Mundus tried again, and succeeded. There is intervention in our politics, religion, law, and economics. Any day now, the world will be as it was when your father was alive, and no one will be able to stop him."  
  
"No one, eh?" Dante changed the subject after a mighty scoff. "Listen, I got up three days ago." He held up three fingers on his left hand, almost making an OK sign. "Took me twelve hours to find you, and thirty-six hours to get to you. Which brings me back to my original question. Why did you leave me?"  
  
Trish sighed again, signalling over a waiter for the check.  
  
"I didn't leave you. How could I? The moment I walked downstairs it was as if the entire Underworld knew you were dead. Because a group of Nero Angelo's were downstairs waiting to confirm your death. I never left, I was taken. Both of us. And-"  
  
Dante cut her off quickly.  
  
"Trinity?!" he exclaimed, a little too loudly. Trish, openly aggravated by his constant interruptions, huffed as she dropped some paper bills on the table to pay for their meal. She stood up first and tucked her chair under the table, thinking of one hundred different ways to explain to Dante what had happened to Trinity. Immediately aware that her sudden silence insinuated tragedy, he stood up with her and felt to his sides for Ebony and Ivory. Touching them was his reassuring comfort.  
  
"She used to live with me. For a little under a year."  
  
Dante smirked quickly and followed her out into the crowded Detroit streets, his trench coat ripping fiercely in the wind behind him. Around him, the noise pollution was intense. A bus's screeching brakes came to a halt at a bus stop near them, in the distance a train roared down a track, and ambulance sirens and car horns rang through Dante's tender ears. His had to condition himself once again.  
  
"Where is she now?" he asked, pushing his shag out of his eyes. He was in desperate need of a haircut, his white hair smothering his eyes and drooping long past his neck.  
  
"Dante, Trinity was killed nine months after you died. She was pregnant with your son, and as far as I know, he died too." That sentence flooded from her lips like a flowing river, almost in one huge blur. There was no use in trying to water down the truth. Trish stopped walking when she realised that Dante was not abreast with her. She looked back over her shoulder.  
  
If Dante was shocked, applaud, hurt, or stricken by this news in anyway, his face did not reveal it. He stood blankly, as if soaking in the rush of information and blinked finally, looking up at Trish with reddening cheeks.  
  
"…" He was obviously awaiting further explanation.  
  
"You mean she died," he corrected hopefully, starting up again.  
  
Trish shook her head apologetically. "One night, she went out and just never came back, and-"  
  
"Impossible," he said in a defensive voice, "Trinity could very well fend for herself."  
  
"Dante…I don't think I ever saw Trinity without Force Edge. Regardless. And a Nero Angelo hand delivered it to me. Blood laced."  
  
"So, you're assuming she's-they're dead?"  
  
"I'm not assuming. I've looked. Days, weeks, months. She's gone."  
  
Again, he pushed the shag from his eyes with an intense look about him. Inside, there was a turmoil of hurt and disappointment churning.  
  
"A Nero Angelo?" He whispered, trying his best to conceal this hurt. Trish shot him an disbelieving look out the corner of her eyes.  
  
"How could you be so unimpassioned about your lover's death?"  
  
Dante made a face. "Lover?"  
  
"Is it not so?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Even though she-"  
  
"I asked her to do me a favour, and she complied. Is that what she told you?"  
  
"No, but I assume that if she was carrying your child then…"  
  
"My son would have been my gift to this God-forsaken world. I didn't expect them to die. You're assumptions are wrong. Peace be with her soul-better off than us, she is. But damn you if you think I'm unimpassioned." His brows narrowed fiercely, his entire handsome façade melting into the depths of blatant unhappiness.  
  
Trish saw this and was immediately moved by this exposure of emotional frailty. She slipped a comforting arm around his waste only to guide him into her arms offering a compassionate embrace. He succumbed to this, resting his chin on her head and taking in the sweet smell of her hair.  
  
"First my mother, and now my son and his mother. Why, Trish?" His voice was sincere, ponderous, heavily accented with grief. He closed his eyes to lull himself in Trish's arms.  
  
"…" She, of course, didn't have an answer for him. He didn't expect her to, and at once, his hurt turned to rage.  
  
"I will have my revenge," he whispered, he promised. 


	7. A Hero to Save Us

II.II A Hero to Save Us  
  
  
  
Grief had stricken Dante so much, he sat reclined in Trish's large, black leather Lazy- Boy before a muted T.V. that stared back at him blankly. Behind him he could hear the hum of Trish's washing machine churning his dirty, blood soaked clothing. He was currently wearing a grey pair of loose sweat pants Trish picked up for him, and nothing else. Force Edge lay across his lap, and his eyebrows, although hidden by a waterfall of white hair, formed a straight line across his forehead in thought.  
  
Beside him was a wall was a blank space where he removed Force Edge, and around that blank space was the infamous shotgun, Sparda, Inferit, Nightmare Beta, and other assortments of weaponry that were his. Trish had very rich taste, and it was evident through her furnishings and art appreciation. Despite the rare items that decorated it, it was not far removed from the common, modernised apartment. Yet, so much had changed. The telephone had decreased in size dramatically, to the point where it was almost palm size, and almost everything was electronically enhanced. The T.V didn't need a remote, the home computers were touch screen, and water faucets were heat sensitive. However, '666' was a common number marked on food goods and most, if not all electronics. This troubled Dante.  
  
"Off," he commanded, and the T.V. flicked off without hesitation. Beside him on a side table, the telephone rang and he snatched it up before the first ring was complete.  
  
"Devil Never Cr-hello?" He corrected, remembering that D.N.C. was no more than a condemned, forgotten memory in Russia. Trish appeared behind him and gently took the phone from him.  
  
"This is Trish. Right. Right. I'll be there." She hung up and tossed the phone back on the side table.  
  
"I gotta go," she informed, suddenly realising that Force Edge was resting in his lap. She gripped his shoulders gently and sighed.  
  
"You gonna to be OK?" She asked, looking down at him slightly. He nodded. Regretting having to leave him, she started for the door. Even if she hadn't seen him in 25 years, she couldn't stop living her life because he suddenly reappeared.  
  
"Please don't smoke while I'm gone," she requested as she walked out the door.  
  
"OK," he responded, reaching for the lighter on the side table to light up the cigarette in his mouth. Finally, he slid Force Edge from his lap onto the floor beside him and lit up the cigarette. If loosing a couple of brain cells would help to get his mind off of his losses, then so be it. He'd died twice already and a cigarette or two could do little to damage his health.  
  
Health…He wasn't dying anymore-he remembered-but just so vaguely his past. He'd already forgotten what Trinity looked like, or what he'd done before he died. But every hour another memory would regenerate. Before he was even halfway through the cigarette, he drove the butt into the side table and exhaled his last cloud of smoke.  
  
Just as he'd retired into the couch, a piercing scream from outside nearly froze his blood. He jumped up in alarm, looking toward the window for an explanation. There was an detonation of shattering glass and screeching tires, and even from the 4th story window, he could see and smell the cloud of conflagration creeping up the side of the building.  
  
Curious and aroused, he bolted for the balcony, threw open the glass double doors and ran out to have a look. What he saw shocked and horrified him- a scattered group of Nero Angelo's dotted the streets. Everything and everyone underfoot was crushed, and anyone unfortunate enough to cross paths with them was sliced by a blade so big, it made Alastor seem like a pocket knife.  
  
"Oh no," he gasped. "Oh no. Trish!" Tension filling his chest, he found himself tearing down the hall calling her name over and over. He hauled brakes in front of the elevator and banged an aggravated fist against the closed door. She was already heading downstairs. Frustrated but not defeated, he bolted down the stairs in a rush, still in shock from what he witnessed. If she did manage to make it outside, he would follow her. The screams of dismay met his ears the closer he got to the ground floor, worry building up that soon Trish's screams would be added to that confusion.  
  
He burst in through the lobby, where most of the occupants were gazing out the doors and windows at the bafflement outside. They were shocked, quizzical, but mostly frightened. The elevator doors slid open and Trish sauntered out obliviously.  
  
"Trish!" Elated, he gripped her arm and pushed her back into the elevator with him. She gave him a displeased look.  
  
"Gotta go to work-Nero Angelo's." Although his sentence didn't make grammatical sense, she managed to capture the meaning in it and her eyes tore open in disbelief. He read her facial expression and nodded, his hands trembling fiercely. He hadn't been in action in so long he feared he might be too rusty to defend himself. The door welcomed them to the destination floor and he grabbed her hand and led her through the crowd of people running from room to room to get better looks of what was happening outside, or cluttering around the elevator for the next ride down.  
  
The door he'd left open had already invited in strangers leaning from the balcony and gazing down below at the Knights. They whirled around in surprise when Trish and Dante entered again.  
  
"Get out." Dante ordered, reuniting with Alastor. They obeyed, fleeing quickly only so that they would be able to find the next available window before they missed anything. Dante shut the balcony doors as Trish picked up the shotgun, bolting up the front door. She was evidently shaken, her brows narrowed in confusion and readiness.  
  
"What do you think is going on?!" She loaded in the next round, trying to be heard over the riot outside. Dante pulled back the curtains and gazed around at the scattered group, terrorising citizens and destroying public property. He breathed heavily, anxiety tightening his muscles.  
  
"I don't know."  
  
"Well we can't do anything locked in here…" She ran her fingers through her hair and started toward him.  
  
"I'm not re-" His sentence was discontinued when a sharp pain struck him through the abdomen and he looked down in surprise at the thin, black spike that was protruding from his stomach. A trickle of blood rolled down between his abdominal muscles. Trish gasped.  
  
When the spike retracted, he whirled around to face a large, black Shadow poised for action. He fingered the wound momentarily but stepped back to block Trish from any future attacks. As he was backing up, he felt a cool passing substance under his feet and looked down. It was another Shadow. It sprung up into the air and rolled into a double –edged spinning vortex, then finally dove toward them. Trish met it with a shotgun blast that stopped it mid flight, but the Shadow only shook it off and charged again. Dante dove out of the way and landed upright, bringing up Alastor to block his face from another spike that clicked off of the sword.  
  
The fight was on.  
  
Precise was his aim, and careful were his actions, for he had to watch for Trish who was trying to shoot around him the entire time at the second Shadow. This method of defensive fighting irked him, and he felt down at his sides for Ebony and Ivory, but he was only disappointed. The Shadows were quick; retreating when damaged and grouping together for a stronger attack. Empty shells crowded the floor as Trish circled to keep the Shadow in sight. She fired off another round and missed, shattering the north window.  
  
"Shit," she whispered, leaping up onto a couch to avoid a ground attack. Dante did not join her, instead, he flung Alastor at the Shadow just as it changed form, and sprung toward the centre table he'd knocked over for Ebony and Ivory. Another spike pierced him under his arm, going clean through his chest horizontally. Severely pained, he stopped to grip his sides. The Shadow lunged at him with its large mouth gaping open, successfully grasping him around the midsection and tossing back its head to swallow him down. Once his legs disappeared into its mouth, it began to thrash its head against the floor with such serious ferocity, Trish had to leap out of the way to avoid being lambasted with blows.  
  
Moments later, there was deep growl from inside the Shadow's throat, and Dante's sword came jutting out from its mouth, then thrusting upward under its nose and splitting it wide open from top to bottom. The cat fell apart in two halves, and Dante stepped out of the Shadow suit spinning Alastor with a vainglorious expression.  
  
The remaining Shadow finished its bout with Trish quickly, and not wanting to confront Dante, liquidated and slipped out through the crack in the north window. Trish was relieved, yet reluctant to drop the shotgun. Dante came over and wrapped an arm around her waist, helping her from the couch.  
  
"Damn it." He was a little disgusted with his weak performance, but he was currently dwelling on the holes that dotted his chest.  
  
He hadn't time to recover though, because the front door sprung open and clattered against the wall forcefully. Trish jumped in alarm and Dante turned to face the door with his palms pressed readily into Alastor's handle. The intruder was none other than an infamous Nero Angelo, and they could see the cowering group of people dashing from the hall behind him. The Knight stepped in and pointed an accusing finger at Dante who didn't hesitate to rip into him with Alastor before he was even able to pull his blade in defence.  
  
A round house kick to the face sent the Knight stumbling backwards, and another swipe by Alastor nearly decapitated him. Panicked and completely shocked, the Knight managed to finger out his blade and block a combination of attacks that followed, relentless and backed by demonic fury. Dante dropped to one knee and forced his fist into the Knight's midsection, winding him. The Knight doubled over, and as he did so Dante brought his fist up under his chin and sent him spiralling backwards onto the floor. The Knight hit hard, sending the sword pitching from his grasp. Dante walked up to him fearlessly, ready to fire off an endless succession of bullets into his blocking rival. He'd just stepped up, when:  
  
"Master Sparda!" Realising his defeat, he brought up his arms to protect his face. Much to his surprise, Dante dropped the gun and crooked a curious eyebrow at him.  
  
"What?" He questioned, peering back to check on Trish quickly. As he did so, another Knight waltzed in through the front door and fixed its eyes solely on Dante. Trish, completely unsuspecting, clicked out an empty shell and aimed at the Knight that was charging at her hero. Aghast, Dante turned to face the new foe, but just as he'd completed the 180 degree turn, the Knight tackled him full force, bumrushing him completely off his feet. The force of the connection surprised him, and he found himself soaring back through the balcony doors. Only when his body bounded off the barricade did the reality of pain shoot through his entire body as though a bolt of lightning had struck him. Shards of glass showered him.  
  
Bewildered, he staggered to his feet, but just as he arose, the Knight rushed in again and met his chest with a stone fist that all but crumbled his ribs to dust. He covered the assaulted area with his arms, roaring in pain. The Knight rushed in again, this time taking both of them over the railing four stories down screaming and tangled together.  
  
For a moment he was absent- minded, free falling until his back met with the hood of a car. He plunged into the roof so hard, it caved in and the windshield exploded, popping open the hood and trunk. The Knight landed directly atop him, and when he opened his eyes he realised that his head was literally under the drivers seat. Desperate, he sucked his legs in and pushed outward, sending the Knight soaring off. It was a miracle he wasn't dead.  
  
Groaning in his agony, he tried to wiggle out feet first, but he felt a hand grasp him around his ankle and hoist him out with surpassing strength. While he was being dragged out over the trunk, he brought his head up to view his saviour; another Nero Angelo. He tried to wriggle free, but the Knight dropped him right behind the bumper, only to grip him by the neck again and slam him onto the trunk. The Knight scowled and looked him over disgracefully.  
  
"Son of Sparda," he rasped, in a deep, monotonous voice. "The blood has spoiled over the ages." Dante's gagging was a pleasurable sound. Finally, he let him go and stepped back, gazing at him only a moment before he disappeared in a blue flash. Inquisitive, Dante staggered to his feet nursing his sore neck and looked about him. Besides the motionless Nero Angelo on the hood of the car he'd fallen on, the streets were desolate, but bathed in destruction. 


	8. After Death

II.III After Death  
  
  
  
"Don't you even get up," Trish growled, pointing the shut gun daringly at the Nero Angelo that was still hostage in her apartment, his back pressed up against the wall patiently. She stepped closer to him, still aiming, and kicked his sword away. He made no attempt to stop her. Dante hurried back into the apartment and slammed the door shut behind him, quickly taking note of the situation. Trish looked back at him and sighed with relief. The Knight arose quickly and Trish gave him a promising glare, but Dante guided the shotgun away from him much to her surprise.  
  
"What did you say to me earlier?" He rasped, ignoring the disbelieving look Trish gave him.  
  
"Master Sparda." The Knight replied in a foreign, unrecognisable accent.  
  
Trish was flabbergasted. "What?!"  
  
The Knight continued, "my name is-"  
  
"Your fuckin' name isn't important. What do you want, Nero?"  
  
"The legend is true, and you live up to your legacy, hero."  
  
Despite the compliment, Dante looked insulted, debating on whether or not to kill him now. "I'm no hero," came the soft retort.  
  
"Twenty-five years ago, prior to your death, you continued your father's legacy with personal intent on seeking vengeance against the demon who killed your mother, and you were successful. You are a hero. But as Mundus promised, he returned-only after he succeeded in killing you."  
  
Trish had a incredulous look about her.  
  
"Killing me?" Dante echoed. "How so?"  
  
"He had your Melancholy Soul."  
  
Trish was surprised. "I guess Rayne was right…" She brushed debris from her couch and sat down, still pointing the nozzle toward the Knight.  
  
"You finally died, and it was destroyed, unbeknownst to us that you would only return decades later."  
  
"Wait," Dante interrupted. "So, you knew I died?" Nero nodded.  
  
"We knew every waking moment of your existence. When you came back to life- from powers beyond our control…" He paused momentarily to look up at the ceiling with intended insinuation before he continued. "…we were sent to make sure you hadn't any intentions of spoiling Mundus' plans for world domination."  
  
"What?!" Dante thundered. "Mundus' plans for what?"  
  
Trish gasped. "I knew it…it was only a matter of time before-"  
  
"Armageddon," she and Nero voiced together. Dante was taken aback.  
  
"Hell's Army, led by commander Prince Mundus, is soon to cast the first stone starting World War III-or Armageddon. Only this time it wont be nation against nation. You've returned because you are the world's saviour, Master Sparda. And I turn my cheek against evil because your father had the right idea."  
  
"..…"  
  
"It is a lot to take in, and I do not expect a response from you so swiftly. However," he walked up to Dante and placed his two massive hands on his shoulders, peering down into his pale green eyes with his red and said, "Sparda may have done it himself, but he was not facing Prince Mundus. If you choose to accept this appointed mission, I will help you. But I cannot do it alone." He stepped back until he was at heels with his weapon, picked it up and slid it into his sleath.  
  
"I'll be back expecting an answer, Master Sparda." Again there was a blue flash, and Nero was gone.  
  
Dante stood staring blankly at the space where Nero stood, unconsciously rubbing his hand across his neck to ease the pain. Already the holes had closed up in his chest. Trish managed to close her mouth, set down the shotgun and saunter over to him, taking down his hand to have a look at his neck. Dante ignored her prodding, trying to baste in the information.  
  
"Why does he call me Master Sparda? I'm just his son."  
  
"Your father died years ago, Dante," Trish replied. "You are Sparda."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Dante leaned into the bathroom mirror, combing his white hair back with his fingers, a large scissors in his left hand. It was actually the first time he'd seen himself in twenty-five years, and just as he'd left this world, he returned to it. Insanely gorgeous, backed with the vitality of youth. He pulled all the hair he could back in a pony tail, gripped it tightly in one hand and snipped off the excess hair with the scissors. Pleased that he was back to normal, he slid the scissors back into the drawer and tightened the towel around his waist.  
  
Trish was dragging a large black garbage bag down the hall when she stopped by the open bathroom door behind him and set down the bag full of broken items and shattered glass. He noticed her reflection in the mirror but never turned around to acknowledge her. He had completely lathered his face when she spoke.  
  
"I didn't think they could talk…Vergil can't."  
  
Dante made a sweeping motion from one side of his neck to the other with his index finger, explaining Vergil's silence. Trish nodded in understanding.  
  
"So, Sparda. You going to take on the Underworld alone?" She leaned against the door frame, arms folded across her chest.  
  
"I decided that I would long ago." He scraped off the stubble on his top lip and rinsed the razor under the faucet.  
  
"I wouldn't advise you to do this, Dante."  
  
"If not me, then who?" He heard Trish's heavy sigh behind him.  
  
"He's Mundus' minion. How do we know we can trust him?"  
  
Dante turned slightly to look at her from the corner of his eyes. "So was my father. So were you." He had a point that she couldn't argue.  
  
Again there was a heavy sigh. "Why?" She asked simply.  
  
"…A woman once told me that twenty-five years ago, a Nero Angelo killed my son and his mother." His tone was tinted with dejection as he tried to hide his disappointed countenance behind a slight smirk. "The way I figure it is, if I take on this job, I'm bound to hit the jackpot sooner or later."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The roof of Trish's apartment building was huge, and from that height, it was possible to see the entire city of Detroit. It was near dusk, and surrounding buildings glimmered faintly as street lights and signs lit up, welcoming the night. Pedestrians were nearly invisible, but below, a mass of ambulances and cop cars littered the streets, cleaning up after the afternoon's catastrophe. Dante could see the red and blue lights bouncing off the wet pavement below.  
  
Twenty-five full stories above the city, and still not the tallest building. And twenty-five wasted years.  
  
Dante placed a foot up on the edge of the building and leaned over to look at the scene below. In his left hand, he was leaning on Force Edge slightly, and he used his right to pull the cigarette from between his lips and flick it into the wind. The weather was nice tonight, but extremely windy, with cold winds blowing in from the north and rustling his hair.  
  
"Nice night, huh?" Trish said, placing her folded arms on the edge next to him. Dante looked down at her and hopped from the ledge, nodding in agreement.  
  
He pulled her over and ran his fingers through her hair, brushing it back from her face then finally taking her hands into his own and examining them briefly. She looked on at him curiously as he did this. Dante wrinkled his brows in confusion.  
  
"You don't have it…"  
  
"What? The markings?" She was referring to the '666' or M.M. (Mark of Mundus) half the city flaunted.  
  
"Yeah. Everyone has it either on their forehead or wrists, with the exception of a few religious devotees."  
  
Trish shook her head disgustedly. "I never took it, but I'm going to have to."  
  
Dante shook his head. "Don't bother. It won't be much use soon." He hopped back up onto the ledge and sat down, loosing most if not all interest in the scene below. Trish leaned in next to him.  
  
"How did you notice anyway? You can only see the markings under black light."  
  
Dante scoffed. "My curse is also my blessing." There was a quick flash of blue light, and Trish looked up to the sky with the eerie trickle of Goosebumps rising on her arms. Must be rain.  
  
"Hmm." She turned around to head back inside but smacked into the chest of the returning Knight, a frightened gasp following the collision. She looked up into his menacing red eyes with her mouth gaping open, only he stepped aside and allowed her to pass without confrontation.  
  
"I guess…I'll leave you two alone…" She mumbled when she felt Dante's hand wrapped around her arm, guiding her toward the staircase. He still had Force Edge in his hand for trust had not yet been fully established with him. She started for the exit, looking back over her shoulder at him to verify if he really wanted to be left alone with Nero.  
  
"I'll be alright," he assured. She gave Nero one last look and disappeared through the exit. Nero didn't speak until he heard the door slam behind her.  
  
"Sparda," he begun finally, "I hope you have a response I want to hear." There was a slight quiver in his voice with eager anticipation. Dante started up a pace himself, partially paying attention and scoping out the rooftop as if he were on patrol.  
  
"There is a personal reason that influenced my response-which is yes, I will do anything I can to stop Mundus. It is my destiny." Nero was beyond pleased, and his body seemed to un-tense after Dante's answer.  
  
Dante stopped pacing momentarily to look at Nero. "Now, what's your reason?"  
  
Nero looked perplexed. Avoiding complexities, he answered simply, "I solely seek to right the wrong with those who I have trespassed." Dante gave him an incredulous look, staring at him blankly as though awaiting further explanation because he didn't believe him the first time. Nero intercepted his stare by pacing to the left a bit, his heavy armour grating with every step. Dante sensed his discomfort and promptly changed the subject, not wishing to become too personal with him anyway.  
  
"Who is Prince Mundus?" This was an inquiry he could answer.  
  
Nero straightened up. "Prince Mundus- Adoni Demetrios, so called After Death, because he stands alone once his enemies have fallen. He is stealthy, mercilessness and bellicose, self proclaimed 'Prince.' It is he who will lead Hell's Army into Armageddon. Unless… you can defeat him."  
  
Dante raised a curious brow at the mention. "Prince Mundus? As in Mundus' legitimate son?"  
  
Nero seemed frustrated. "His origin is of no importance," he replied dryly.  
  
Dante cocked his head inquisitively. "What good are you to me then? You don't know anything."  
  
"I know more about you than you imagine." Dante narrowed his brows, forming a deep groove down his forehead.  
  
"Nero, I swear you'd better not be hiding shit form me, understand?" Nero stepped back, blinking at his sudden change of temperament.  
  
"My apologies…"  
  
"Save it. Come back with all the information you can carry."  
  
They stared hard at one another for a brief moment, both reluctant to part first. But then, Nero nodded and disappeared in a blue flash. There was something unsteady about the way Nero made him feel. The way he spoke. The way he avoided certain topics of conversation. Currently, Nero was walking a thin line between trust and suspicion. 


	9. Cursed Loins

II.IV. Cursed Loins  
  
"And that building over there is the Detroit National Bank-you can't make a withdrawal without a retinal scan, like most of the buildings around here," Trish explained, nodding off toward the direction of the building. She was giving Dante a brief tour of the city, but he was barely paying her any mind, as he was trying to take in all the new sights, sounds, and smells of a totally new location, and a totally new world. She had her arm hooked in his, and reluctantly, he carried a large brown bag of groceries in his free arm. A shopping bag full of new clothes for Dante swung loosely in her left hand. He paused momentarily to stare at a few guys sitting on the front steps of their apartment, blatantly snorting cocaine.  
  
"Oh yeah, cocaine and marijuana are legal," she added. Dante quirked an eyebrow. "We have Rastafarianism to thank for that. Anyway," she started up again, giving him a light tug. He went along after he felt the tightening of her grip on his arm.  
  
"That guy over there? In front of the Court House? He's a holographic representation of a sales rep." He squinted over at the guy across the street, speaking in general to passer-byers that weren't paying him much mind. He couldn't even tell he was computer enhanced until he glitched slightly with a string of static running through his mid section. Although projected, the representation was heat sensitive and was able to follow people stiffly with its eyes when they moved. It was amazing how much technology had advanced. Trish babbled on, and the more and more she spoke, the less attention Dante gave her. Nevertheless, she raved on as he turned his head this way and that to stare at every passing citizen with a double 'M' or triple six on their body. They stopped at an intersection and Dante looked about him to make sure he hadn't missed anything. "Dante!"  
  
"What?" Came the flat reply.  
  
Trish gave him a disappointed look. "Orright, what's on your mind?"  
  
"A lot of things, Trish."  
  
"Like?"  
  
"What is that?" He completely bypassed her question when a large, gothic construction smack in the middle of modern day architecture undoubtfully caught his eye. Judging by the structure and stained glass windows, it was without fail, a church. But the most unappealing and unwelcoming church he'd ever laid eyes on. It was dark, with menacing gargoyles and Corinthian style pillars supporting the covered entrance. Trish glanced toward the direction he was staring at and gave a disgusted grunt. "Some sect of Mundus' Nero Angelo worship. It's-where are you going?"  
  
Dante started out into the street before the light had even given him clearance to walk. Trish double-checked the traffic and started out after him, riding on his heels until he safely made it across. When they paused a moment to take in the church at such close proximity, he squinted at the tiny inscription atop the double doors and raised his eyebrows in alarm.  
  
"How long has this been here?"  
  
"Oh, about nine-ten years."  
  
"Nine-ten years huh?" He barely even mumbled that reply, his face ridden with the evidence of intense thought. He nearly gasped in surprise once he had finished analyzing the inscription. He started off again; taking in finally, a reality-a truth that cut him deeper still than any weapon was capable of doing. But it was only a half-truth that he held with him, burning from incompletion. A truth only to be completed when his thirst for vengeance was satisfied. He blinked hard, trying his best to reconfigure the timing and dates, trying to blotch out the negativity of his reality and weigh on the possibility that he might be wrong. But each time he finished this cycle of configuration with the same results, it struck him in the heart. And with each emotional lash it birthed anger.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The hostile air that lingered in Trish's apartment was even stronger than the hunger- rousing aroma of Golden China. Trish had given up the recliner to Dante while she sat on the couch perplexed as to why he'd so suddenly formed a relationship with Force Edge. She glanced over at him and watched half of an egg roll slide into his mouth and disappear, shaking her head pitifully at his lack of etiquette.  
  
The faint hum of a ceiling fan framed their conversational silence. Dante slumped over his knees and raked his fingers through his hair, exhaling deeply. The food in his world has become flavourless as a result of frequent smoking. Tobacco tinted everything he tasted, and ever since he'd resurrected, the yearning to smoke tempted him so greatly his hands shook slightly when he tried to suppress the urge. They were shaking now. They shook when he thought of Trinity, they shook when he looked at Force Edge and they shook when he thought of Nero.  
  
It was always an emotional trauma that solicited him to smoke. The smoke would fill that empty void inside and expel his anxiety through his mouth or nose the form of while clouds and yellow fingernails. Again there was a cigarette between his lips. But the cigarette was not enticed by the thought of the usual culprits.  
  
"Dante, outside," Trish commanded in an aggravated tone, as though she were scolding a rebellious puppy. Reluctantly he rose; Force Edge glued to his palm and started for the door sucking on the white stick. He would go to the roof where he could be alone, where he could send his silent prayers on a puff of smoke to God. He would wonder why that half-truth was strangling him. Perhaps it was because ten years ago, the structure he laid eyes on was established. For a Nero Angelo named Adoni Demetrios: Prince Mundus.  
  
When he reached the roof, he begun to pat his pockets for a lighter when he realised not only was he lacking a shirt, but that he'd left the lighter inside. Perturbed, incomplete and livid, he flicked the cigarette into the wind and fondled the guns at his sides. Forever his reassuring comfort. If the urge to smoke was not met, then he was compelled by another habit: to shoot. Presently, his trigger fingers hooked repetitively as he shot off invisible rounds into the roof, again pacing to satisfy his agitation.  
  
He picked up on a blue flash immediately in his peripheral vision, at once feeling the presence of Nero. He did not acknowledge him; thus he stood silently, secluded in the darkness of the roof, waiting patiently for Dante to greet him.  
  
Already his presence aggravated him fiercely, and Dante's lips formed a fine line across his jaw to suppress his tongue from lashing out. But Nero did not heed to the hostile warning signs of his prose nor was he daunted by his lack of welcome. Nero took a few steps forward, grating his armour against the rooftop, then paused. "Master Dante," he began.  
  
Dante did not regard his call but repositioned himself so that Force Edge's handle rested just under his chin where his hands were folded neatly across its top.  
  
"Master-"  
  
"Leave me," he interrupted, calmly at first. The lack of assertion in his voice made his plea sound like a request rather than a command and Nero piped up again.  
  
"I know-"  
  
"Nero," he interjected yet again, never raising his voice or turning to face him, for his eyes occupied the busy city streets below him at the denizens of a soon to be hell-on-earth, corrupted by the demonic influence and presence of Mundus and now soon to be, Prince Mundus. He questioned his return role momentarily. Was he the avenger or the saviour? And if he was saviour, were they worth saving?  
  
"Leave." This time it was a direct command backed by the adverse tone in his voice. Respectfully, Nero nodded, bowing although Dante could not see his actions from behind his back.  
  
"As it pleases you, Ace." Nero had, since their encounter, used a variety of names to address Dante by but never had it related to so personal a thing. Nero caught his breath, realising that he'd made a mistake. A mistake that did not go undetected by Dante. His eyes widened slightly at the mention, his palms closing tightly around the handle of Force Edge. Briefly, his heart fell, yet he could not bring himself to whirl around at once. "How did you know to call me that? Trinity used to call me her Ace" Nero was stricken with silence.  
  
Nero's words rushed through his ears like the aftermath of a struck bell. The vibrating, repeating words that faded, dropping him back into reality.  
  
  
  
'I solely seek to right the wrong with those whom I have trespassed.'  
  
I Dante looked at him from over his shoulder. "It was you, wasn't it?" He whispered, his human half quickly loosing the struggle to sustain his demonic fury. The rage burned through his veins like hell fire until he felt he would erupt in either a blaze of anger or fire. He flipped Force Edge to its rightful upright position and still there was no response from Nero who did not back away from Dante who was staring him down with negative intent.  
  
"Tell me something.Did she beg?"  
  
Caught, there was no need for denial or admittance. Nero shook his head nervously, or perchance, apologetically.  
  
"No."  
  
"Will you?"  
  
Alarmed, Nero reached for his sword to defend himself but before he could even pull it out, Dante had fired a blazing bullet into his offensive hand. Pained, Nero did not cry out but gripped his hand in surprise. Dante stepped toward him once more, his outstretched hand pointing Ivory at his head. He fired off another round into his face, staggering him back. In one swift, smooth motion, he swept Force Edge by his legs and knocked Nero to his hands and knees.  
  
"Get up," he coolly commanded, gripping one of his horns and pulling him to his knees. Desperate but temporarily blinded by the gunshot wound to the face, Nero reached for his sword a second time and again his hand met with a bullet. Confused by the presence of unadulterated rage, he half dragged Nero toward the edge only to stand him up and kick him down again. Nero was a useless, unchallenging opponent who did not wrestle with fate.  
  
"Look at me damn you!" Nero did as he was told, his injured hand seizing violently. "Beg me," Dante ordered, but he never gave him the chance. He lodged Ivory in his mouth and at such close proximity, the bullet lodged itself in the back of his throat, and Nero fell back in a motionless heap.  
  
Where after Trish, flooded with intense curiosity, rushed the stairs to the roof and burst through the doors.  
  
"Dante-"  
  
She paused momentarily after calling his name to dart her eyes about the roof for an explanation. She noticed him standing unimpassioned over his kill, blood dotting his face and approached him slowly. He turned his head to look at her. Before she was able to utter a word, he spoke. But he spoke in a very monotonous tone, a tone unaffected by the realisation he'd just made. As everything he feared was true crept into his throat and threatened the passage of his voice, Trish knelt down, debating on whether or not to remove the head covering of Nero. Dante did not oppose her meddling.  
  
"Vengeance is mine."  
  
At first, Trish was perplexed, knitting her brows in thought until it came to her. She staggered back from the body and withdrew her hand quickly as if a snake lunged at her. She couldn't even verbally express her sorrow and surprise but her expressions needed no words. As if the devastating awareness was not punishment enough, the next few words from Dante's lips all but impaled her.  
  
" My son is alive. They call him Adoni." 


	10. My Enemy, My Son

II.V. My Enemy, My Son  
  
With dusk rapidly approaching, drowning the city in black light, the winds kicked up ferociously. As each shadow caressed every street corner and alley, chasing the sun, a light would click on in return. It was artificial compensation for the God given light. The skies were ugly-a wicked grey that cushioned the rising moon and the stars flickered like dying bulbs.  
  
It was this intense change of weather that made Dante fully aware of what was happening. He stood still on the roof after Trish had long since departed, after Nero had diminished into blue light-and gazed out at the rapid changes. The night brought with it chilly weather, stinging winds that brushed his hair back against his skull. In minutes darkness was fully upon the city.  
  
The moon started white but with each passing cloud an orange tint shaded it. Shaded it until it was yellowish. Then orange until finally, a legitimate blood red. Pedestrians carried on, fighting the intense winds seemingly unconscious to the mutation. But Dante saw. Then one by one, the stars rained from the sky in a fiery descent. Quickly, quietly they fell without cease, touching the streets and vanishing like snow falling into a hot grill. One star, gliding gracefully, dropped strategically near Dante and melted into the roof until it formed a dark, metallic puddle. He peered into it casually until the centre dropped and he beheld a portal.  
  
His invitation to hell.  
  
  
  
  
  
Gently, in the privacy and darkness of his room, the Crimson Knight suited up. Stained with the blood of fallen enemies' twenty-five years prior, Dante's red attire fit him like a glove. He pulled on the red trench and slid Ebony and Ivory to their rightful positions at his sides. The black leather gloves, flexible only according to his hands, welcomed them as if they knew what was to come. Finally, he stomped into his boots and left the room. He met Trish in the living room peering out the window with a suppressed look of fright on her face. He glanced at her momentarily on his way to the wall to retrieve Sparda. His glance did not go unnoticed. " Dante what's happening?" She asked softly, her grip on the curtains intensifying. He hooked Sparda onto his back before he answered her question. ".And the moon became as blood, and the stars of heaven fell unto the earth." Trish peeled her eyes away from the window long enough to give Dante an impressed look, unaware of his ability to quote biblical scriptures. She turned around again, pressing her fingers against the window and returned: "The people don't seem to realise what's happening."  
  
"They don't know," he said. "They don't see as we see." He started toward the front door when Trish noticed his apparel and stopped him.  
  
"Where are you going?" She knew well the answer to that question but she hoped he would deny her suppositions. She didn't give him time to reply as she started up after him.  
  
"I'm coming," she demanded, but when she felt Dante's iron hand clasped on her shoulder to cease her following, she turned agitated knowing her defeat. "No."  
  
Her brows furrowed almost childishly. "Why not?"  
  
"I need you to stay here." He released his grip and placed his hand on the doorknob, talking to her over his shoulder. "Do something to occupy the time-read a book do anything-I dunno-Pray."  
  
"But why?" She insisted, eager to accompany him. He released the knob and turned to face her again. He brought up his apologetic hands to her face and held it firmly to look up at him.  
  
"In case I never see you again."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Hell again welcomed him harshly. He dropped to Hell's earth like a comet, landing upright and skidding to a stop on his heels. He stumbled forward a few times until he regained his balance and looked around. Complete silence accompanied him. Below him, the vast sands radiated a humid heat. The wind was still. Above, the skies were turmoil ire of grey and black, wrestling with the blue for one dominant colour.  
  
North, South, East and West were lost. Dante had no direction. He needed no direction. He felt as if he were standing in the middle of a flat desert, untouched and uncharted. The sand was a perfect sheet of tan, stretching forever into the horizon. Only his footprints interrupted the flawless flow. The portal above him was the only entrance and exit, thus Dante would wait. The opportunist hunter waits for the prey to come to him.  
  
He reached into his pocket to pull out his last cigarette and lit it. He had only taken two drags when something rustled his hair. Unsuspecting, he pulled the cigarette from between his lips and exhaled, preparing himself for what might be behind him. Slowly, he turned, peering over his shoulder first then finally completing the turn. Nothing. Conscious of the stability of his sanity, he replaced the cigarette and pulled Sparda from his back, pointing it down in a relaxed stance.  
  
His hair rustled again, feeling like fingers at first until the gentleness changed abruptly to sharp claws and he felt his scalp give way and a warm sensation trickle down his cheek.  
  
"Shit!" He jerked his head away from the invisible force and ran his fingers through his hair until he met the source of the problem and grunted in disgust. After wiping the blood from his cheek, he lifted Sparda defensively and turned violently to find the culprit. A laugh ran through his ears.  
  
"Heh heh heh." Dante tore his eyes open upon recognition.  
  
"Come on Virgil. No more games. Come on out!" He spun around again and Virgil was standing a few yards ahead of him, sword in hand. He disappeared in a flash and reappeared few more yards down. He raised his large hand and closed it, beckoning Dante to come to him. It worked, because Dante broke into a fearless run until he was upon him and swung Sparda with all his might. But Virgil had teleported again and begun reappearing every few steps as if he were toying with him.  
  
At long last, when Dante decided against playing games with him any longer, he stopped and Virgil appeared behind him only to nudge him forward with the butt of his sword and leave Dante with the sound of his heavy laughter. The scenery had not changed, making his progress seem less that it actually was.  
  
When the laughter melted away, he stood upright and he listened. There was the rising sound of thunder as a wave of Clydesdale hooves struck the earth in an incessant gallop. He looked on toward the horizon as they neared. When the horse beasts came into view, the fiery red of their manes blew wildly in the wind. Their metallic bits and chain-linked reins clanked heavily against the armour of their riders. Each horse, black ones, white ones and brown ones-were all in deep contrast with the red shag that covered their hooves and tails.  
  
Atop each beast was a Nero Angelo clad in their intimidating armour. The eminent horns that leaked down either side of their stone faces served as blinds, restricting them to frontal vision. Velvet capes flagged violently behind them as they stormed in single file, row after row in an organised sea of destruction.  
  
Dante observed in awe the mass, wondering when the persistent pour of minions would cease-if it would cease. Despite the numbers, Dante was not shaken. He would remain calm until Adoni-his son-came forward. As the crowd neared, a thick cloud of dust kicked up and blinded him. He could hear the first set come to a complete stop, but still more galloped in until he could hear nothing but the faint trot of the last bit of Demon Knights bringing in the back.  
  
The dust cleared.  
  
The sight before him could be limited in description even by imagination. Miles and miles of Hell's Army plagued the area. The front row of Knights each held a different flag, ranging from the United Stated to Zimbabwe. Every continent and country in existence was covered, each assigned to a dedicated group of minions set to conquer their assigned area. They were innumerable.  
  
Dante did not flinch although his pulse thickened. His eyes darted about wildly in his head and his throat tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. Anticipation made him tremble. Or perhaps it was his nervous uncertainty.  
  
Through the mass, one Angelo pranced through, a certain air of importance around him. The steed was as black as unadulterated darkness, the mane so deep a red it questioned the existence of that colour. The mammoth horse marched up to him and stopped short from a stern tug, turning its side to Dante so that the rider could look down upon him. Dante felt his teeth seize. At long last, he would meet with his son. Did he look like him? Did he resemble Trinity at all? It was hard to tell for he was encased in the common armour. The figure atop the horse was tall, not at all bulky or massively intimidating, but well chiselled and lean. His shoulders were back and he sat straight up as though his spine were made of steel. His presence would unquestionably be known in a crowed room-it was his charisma, prose and reflection of importance. He was a Prince. There was silence, then:  
  
"Adoni," Dante called firmly when he finally trusted his voice.  
  
The rider cocked his head inquisitively at him. "I am," he responded gruffly, his raspy voice muffled behind the armour. His voice- their voices mingled together in Dante's head, the startling vocal similarity churned together until he could not decipher Adoni's voice from his own. But Adoni's voice was powerful and obeyed by the endless army behind him. Dante's voice may have had an arrogant and confident air to it but it lacked the potency to move a military.  
  
As though some unknown force in him took hold of his tongue, Dante suddenly wished more than anything to see his face and demanded rather than asked, "Show your face." Adoni was silent for a time, and then decided against a response. This pushed the envelope on Dante's patience.  
  
"I want to see the face of the man I have to kill," he affirmed.  
  
Adoni scoffed mightily. "You will see my face as a last request, believe me."  
  
"Take it off, or I'll take it off for you." Dante's warning again drove Adoni to silence, but his facial armour hid his rage.  
  
"What?!"  
  
Dante, off to Adoni's left, rushed in quickly and swiped the helmet clean from his head as promised, catching it in his free hand before it finished its descent. The action was so swift, there was barely time for Adoni to anticipate and defend himself. Aghast, Adoni turned to face him, anger swelling up in his eyes. "Have at you, Dante!" He growled, drawing his sword.  
  
With his jaw slightly loosed, Dante took in the full frontal view of Adoni. Despite having untamed, black hair and thin, creeping sideburns that extended down to his jaw and a tuft of hair under his bottom lip, Dante was looking at himself. A younger perhaps a little more handsome man than himself. But there was more to him than just what he saw, for his left eye was a pale green, and his right was jet black. And in it he saw Trinity. Dante could not move. Adoni picked up on his astonishment and smiled grimly at his father, returning the sword to his side.  
  
"Do I resemble someone you know?" Adoni questioned, sensing the rise of his army approaching. He turned to face them and held out his hand. "Stand down!" He commanded, then turned to face Dante again.  
  
"Or rather, knew?" He corrected. He circled Dante, silently hoping he would strike first to begin the competition.  
  
"Could you strike me, your son, knowing whom I fully resemble?"  
  
"So then you know who I am?" Dante asked calmly.  
  
"Know you? I am you!.but you wish you were me." He paused momentarily to reach into the side pocket on his horse and pull out a mercury ball, a little larger than palm size and held it up to him.  
  
"I own this. I own the army. The same will be for you-when you pry it from my cold dead fingers."  
  
Dante now, never a friend of many words, rushed into the side of Adoni's horse again with such devilish ferocity, it sent him toppling off the other side. Unharmed but frightened, the horse thrashed its massive head from side to side and trotted away from Adoni's body. Dante removed Sparda and drove it downward into his sternum, but it clicked off his breastplate. Infuriated, Dante tried again, each time stabbing with more intention of breaking the shell. He managed to force a hole into the armour by the third strike, but Adoni drove his foot into him and pushed him back. He leapt to his feet quickly and fingered out his sword, thrusting forward enough to unhook a button on Dante's shirt when he pulled back to avoid the swing.  
  
Adoni was just as an aggressive a fighter as Dante but with less patience. He kept pursuing forward, swinging his sword from right to left in hopes of dismembering him. Dante kept leaping back, every now and again blocking with Sparda. Adoni was a raging bull with a pendulum for arms, hell bent on making Dante pay for dishonouring him.  
  
But his defence was better than his offence, and when Dante finally retaliated with a low strike that dropped him to his knees, it was only his graceful defence that stopped Dante from decapitating him. Adoni rolled to his feet and backed up to pace himself with Dante, but just as he did so Dante thrust forward with Sparda and it extended, missing him by just seconds. Sparda retracted again and Dante threw it at Adoni so violently, it bounded off his chest and retreated into Dante's awaiting arms.  
  
Bitter, Adoni rushed in and gripped Dante's arm in hopes of dragging him down, but his arm only met with the surgical edge of Sparda. Blood ran from the open wound. Adoni retreated screaming in panic, ripping off the wrist guard with his teeth to view the damage. Dante waited patiently. Enraged, Adoni threw his weapon to the ground and flicked his tongue across the wound to lap up the blood.  
  
"Only a fool trusts his life to a weapon!" He challenged, beckoning Dante to throw down Sparda. It came as a simple request to Dante as he dropped Sparda at his feet and kicked it away, inviting him to strike first.  
  
And Adoni struck like lightning. He darted forward with his palms facing him; gripping hold of his white hair he forced his chin down upon his knee and released him only when the weight of Dante's body fell back. He staggered but never lost his footing completely. His attacks were relentless and unmerciful, a trait he obviously acquired from Dante. Both stubborn and refusing defeat, the blows delivered and received brought them nearer and nearer to death.  
  
Adoni's fists burned like fire ripping into Dante's skin. With each blow landed successfully, Dante was forced to keep from his knees. His surpassing strength was almost discouraging. It was as though Dante was fighting himself. It was useless returning attacks for the unfair advantage were the armour that encrusted his body. But Adoni's impatience failed him. He rushed in quickly again and Dante ducked, driving his Inferit fist into the hole he'd already started and a large crack split across the front of the breastplate.  
  
Stunned, Adoni backed up quickly and gripped his chest, fingering the crack. He forced his fingers into it to widen the split until he was able to completely separate the casing and pull it apart. At the last possible moment, Dante tackled Adoni around the knees and swept him up over his shoulder. He drove downward with his palm pressed into his chest and slammed him into the sand. But Adoni held fast around his neck and the two tumbled together in the sand, kicking up a small storm in the struggle. Winded, Adoni's last resort was to tangle Dante in his own excess clothing, which he accomplished easily by twisting his cloak down over his head.  
  
Blinded and aggravated, Dante struggled to rip free of his entrapment, tearing the already loose buttons in his shirt until his bare flesh was exposed. With a deep grunt, he pried apart the vest and lunged for Adoni's neck. He scrambled atop him and seized his throat, pressing his fingers together until he could no long see the neck he held in his hands. Choking on the tongue that popped from between his teeth, Adoni grasped Dante around the wrists and begun to pull his arms apart. But Dante had no intentions of stopping until there was no struggle. Adoni thrashed his head violently, the green eye staring into his father's merciless face. His arms dropped to his sides and again his head turned, exposing the coal black eye that belonged to Trinity.  
  
At once Dante's grip slacked, belligerence fleeing from him altogether. How could he look into his face and not see her? Adoni's hands roamed at his waist as if he intended to push him off but did no such action.  
  
Dante felt cold fire bursting through his abdomen. It was an explosion from the nozzle of Ebony burning through his skin. He hollered and fell back, loosing his grip and leaping at once to his feet. There was another explosion, then another as each bullet tore through his body as though he were made of glass. He never imagined a blast from his own gun could hurt him so. The fourth shot dropped him to his knees, the surrounding sand plastered in his blood. He gripped the assaulted area, gritting his teeth to suppress the spreading pain. It raced through his system like injected nitrogen, freezing his veins so badly it burned.  
  
"Argh!" His body twitched violently as his hands swept across his body, digging his fingers into the holes. The fifth shot went through his left breast, knocking him back into the sand. It drove him to immediate silence. It didn't even hurt anymore. 


	11. Showdown

II.VI. Showdown  
  
Adoni, sitting up, finally rose to his feet mopping blood from his brow and walked over to Dante's body with Ebony outstretched. He peered down into his face, watching his eyes flutter closed; satisfied that he had defeated him. Adoni exhaled heavily and tossed the gun to Dante's side, rubbing his wrist, sweat and blood sticking clumps of sand to his devilishly handsome visage. He picked up his sword, whistled to his horse and mounted it as though no fight had transpired. Ignoring Dante's sprawled body, he turned to face the army again and snapped his omnipotent fingers.  
  
  
  
Then he gave the command.  
  
  
  
With a simple wave of his hand, the entire army picked up, the leading horses rearing up on their hind legs then charging forward. The thunder erupted again as the continual fleet dodged Adoni's horse and bounded over Dante's body to the portal ahead. The sound of swords being forcefully pulled from the Knight's sides and the flapping of territorial flags in the wind plagued the air. The sand kicked up again.  
  
Adoni was calmly among the mass forcing them onward, his sword raised triumphantly in the air, words of destructive encouragement fleeing his lips. His voiced was drowned in the thunderous noise but his face was twisted in sick excitement as he watched his minions' charge forth into the world Dante sought to save. When he could stand no longer the lack of action, he turned his horse toward the portal. He tore open his eyes when he heard the ringing of gunfire cut through the air. Startled, he looked over his shoulder at Dante, faded in the cloud of sand but without doubt back form the world of unconsciousness. Adoni forced a smile.  
  
"That's right. Devils don't die so easily."  
  
Quickly, he dismounted his horse from the left side, his foot still hooked in the saddle when Sparda soared through the air and pierced him directly through his left breast. The force of Sparda's entry threw him back into the sand and he gripped the blade with his bloody hands, fighting to pull it from his breast. He twitched, he hollered momentarily with his face twisted in horror. Dante stood by watching his struggle.  
  
He wound this way and that, trying to avoid being trampled to death as well as free himself from Sparda's clutches. He moaned horribly, his chest rising and falling rapidly, deeply. Then Sparda, free from his chest alas, fell out and landed beside him. Adoni scrambled to his feet, grasping his chest and gripping his horse for support.  
  
  
  
Meanwhile the army continued to torrent toward the portal, the incessant noise deafening. Adoni gasped heavily, another sinister smile replacing the dread on his face. "Oh-my heart," he gasped, "my heart Dante-is on the right."  
  
Dante was taken aback, his expression nothing short of astonishment. But surprise quickly raided his face when he noticed the cut on Adoni's hand had healed. He also noticed that Adoni kept him to his left-why? It was obvious, and the answer struck him instantly; he could not see from the black eye. Thus his attacks would predominantly be on the left. Dante briefly returned his fickle grimace.  
  
"It's too late, hero. I gave my command." He fingered his wound and rubbed the blood on his fingers together, trying to steady his breathing.  
  
"Blind," Dante asserted.  
  
"What?" Adoni returned, openly surprised at Dante's remarkably calm prose. He stepped to the side and Adoni's green eye followed him cautiously.  
  
"You can't see me."  
  
A horrible disadvantage in the battlefield would be the inability to see. Although he could-and even with this one eye-the green one that followed Dante so steadily-he managed to not only be in battle but to lead it. With this sense dulled his body promptly compensated by strengthening his remaining senses. Including his Devil sense.  
  
Adoni could feel the evil spirit rising within him. The adrenaline rush brought on by this chest wound was enough to rouse his latent demon. He peered into Dante's devilish eyes, anticipating his next foolish move that would undeniably kill him. In just a moment the transformation would begin and Dante would be dead before its completion.  
  
Dante stood still feeling the force of the horses whisking by him. It was too late now to stop an entire army by hand alone. He needed that mercury ball in the flap at Adoni's horse's side. But Adoni was not foolish. He was standing right there-so close but in such poor condition it would be too easy to pluck the ball away from him. However, he would do it.  
  
Dante bent slowly, never taking his eyes away from Adoni as he reached a cautious or perhaps horribly exhausted hand over to Ebony. He didn't need to worry about being trampled; horses naturally avoided objects in their way. Still, a confrontation now in such close proximity of those giant beasts was life threatening. Death teetered in all directions.  
  
It was not until his fingers closed gingerly around Ebony's scuffed handle that Adoni attacked again. So swiftly this time Dante never saw him leave the horse's side. He didn't even realise he was near him until he was blasted in the kidney by a remarkably potent fist that blackened his vision temporarily. Adoni gripped him under the arms and forced him back into the sand, pressing his knee into his abdomen.  
  
He was surprisingly heavy. He was surprisingly stronger. His fingers gripped his arms like a perched bird, and much like the talons on a bird Adoni's fingers ripped into his flesh until Dante was convinced that it was neither man nor beast he wrestled with. He cried out when his skin popped and fingers forced into his soft tissue like carving knives. He mashed his eyes shut, trying not to blackout as Adoni dangled him just above the threshold of inhumane torture. He couldn't even inhale with the pressure of Adoni's knee compressing his lungs.  
  
When he opened his eyes again he was staring not into the face of a man but demon that was forcing its way through. Both his eyes were now a radiant orange, his ears pointed slightly at the tips and lips parted slightly revealing a wicked row of fangs. Dante cried out with what little breath he had left in his lungs.  
  
"Shit! What are you?"  
  
Both frightened and disgusted, Dante ripped his arm free of the vise- like grasp and pressed his palm against his chest in a sad attempt at pushing him off. He raised his leg and kicked outwards, forcing Adoni to back off his body. Dante scrambled backwards on his elbows until he felt the demon grip his leg and start to force the joint at his knee to bend in its opposite direction. Dante had never broken a bone before in his life but he was almost certain that the detonation in his leg would cripple him. He felt the bone split along his chin and creep up his thigh. It was not until the pressure hit his hip that flung sand into his eyes in desperation. Adoni let go to dig his paws into his eyes, mistakenly stepping back into the path of a rushing Clydesdale. In an instant he was swept away. The front hooves caught him on the shoulder bone, driving him into the ground only to pick him up again with its back legs and drag him another few yards before the horse stumbled.  
  
The rider was dragged down as well; the fallen horse flaring its legs and in the process tangling up other horses as well that didn't quick leap the accident in time. The entire time it took the horse to fall and slow up the army was only seconds. Adoni felt the crushing pressure of a struggling horse roll onto him, filling his mouth with sand. A storm kicked up around the whinnying horses.  
  
  
  
Dante opened his eyes again. There was no doubt that he could not stand. Flat on his back to avoid startling any more horses, he was fully aware that all function in his left leg had ceased. He could still see Adoni's horse faithfully and nimbly standing by. And right by the horse was Sparda. But where was Adoni?  
  
No matter. He sat up abruptly, covering his head with his arms just as a horse leapt clean over his head, leading the detour around his body. He dug his fingers into the ground and slowly dragged his body over to the horse, pausing only to bury his head from the stampede. The number of minions being unleashed into the world truly was innumerable. He could feel every knick and close call of hooves brushing against his body. At one point he was staring directly at the belly of one horse that had stopped immediately to step over him.  
  
Just as he reached Sparda, an immense, leathery wing shot up from the crowd, scattering the rush and flaring wildly to chase them away. The bat- like wing folded neatly around Adoni's body as he leapt into the air and dove down toward Dante's body with a sick screech. Thinking fast, Dante rolled away from the nose dive, pain striking him repetitively. Gripping hold of Sparda, he quickly anchored it into the ground to assist him to his feet.  
  
Adoni had nearly completed his transformation. Dante noticed the stub of a second wing poking through his skin like severely deformed scoliosis. Much of the demon bore resemblance to Alastor's lightning transformation, however, some unrecognizable characteristics Dante could not place to a forbearer. The orange glow from his eyes unmistakably belonged to Feuer, Trinity's long deceased father (Dante Must Die). Perhaps the remaining features belonged to him.  
  
Once he stood, he made it his sole purpose to stay in Adoni's blind spot, but the demon was too quick and Dante's lumbering condition did not aid him any. In perhaps the most fatal and misjudged decision of his life, Adoni rushed in at Dante again-and missed. With a simple side-step, Dante gripped hold of the exposed wing and pulled himself onto his back. Dante's weight forced him into the ground again and he gripped the developing wing securely in his free hand. He tugged, and the wing seemed to take up a mind of its own, retreating into the skin to avoid conflict but Dante pulled back, forcing it through until it flagged in harassment.  
  
Adoni bucked in pain and Dante seized the other wing. He pulled down as if unveiling his back and the two wings ripped apart like thin leather in his hands. Blood sprayed his face as the remaining portion of the wings retreated into his skin again. In an instant the transformation began to reverse. The glow went out in his eyes and the jagged teeth slipped back into his gums. Fear came into him and he stood quickly, but Dante swept Sparda into his Achilles tendons and Adoni collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been cut. If he couldn't walk, neither would Adoni.  
  
  
  
Trish ran her fingers over the nozzle of the shotgun she held in her lap. Sweat melted her face as she retreated into the couch, hiding in the darkness of her apartment. She sat perfectly still. Outside, the sound of galloping horses and screaming pedestrians brought chills down her spine. Dante had not succeeded.  
  
Occasionally, the sound of gunfire would interrupt the flow. It was the sound of some civilian protecting themselves from the invading army. She breathed slowly, gently, as if she might give herself away if she exhaled too heavily. Only a loud click was heard when an empty shell snapped out of the ejection port. She reloaded carefully and released the safety, pressing her eyes shut in a silent prayer. 


	12. Omega

II.V. Omega  
  
Dante arose first, his competitive spirit not allowing him to succumb to fatigue. Covered in a film of sand and dust, he dug the tip of Sparda into the sand and used it was a crutch to hoist him to his feet. As he stood, fighting off the shock that seized his left leg, he glared down at Adoni: the devilish production of his loins and briefly cursed his union with Trinity. The road to hell was paved with good intentions. He hobbled over to his defeated son, who, fully returned to man status, did not seem to notice the red pools at his feet. He bore pain and suffering well, it seemed.  
  
He stared blankly at his father; his wild black hair diluted in the tan sands and disarrayed. Both accepting his defeat and welcoming death, a light chuckle shook his body. It soon substituted for choking as a burst of blood spurted from his lips and he resided finally after a deep sigh.  
  
"Good show, Dante. But I'd have rather killed you."  
  
Untouched by the biological link between himself and Adoni, Dante lifted Ebony to his chest and fired off a round into Adoni's right breast. A small bullet hole appeared and Adoni slapped a hand over the area, staring at Dante as if he were still waiting for him to get the shot off. But a light faded in his eyes, more so the black eye, but both smalled together and soon his head dropped back into the sand.  
  
Dante stood poised with his arm outstretched, feeling as if a burden and a blessing had both just been lifted from his chest. Perhaps it was the satisfaction of getting the job done mixed with the remorse of killing a worthy opponent that had no doubt scared him for life. Then, as if a switch went off in his head, he threw Ebony to the ground and whipped around quickly, disregarding the pain shooting through his body. He was alone. It struck him immediately that the army had been released and that perhaps, for once he had failed; not a mission but his life's purpose.  
  
"Shit." he grumbled, absently stumbling about. As the ruler of hell's army, he realised that it was a position even he was powerless in. He looked down at Adoni, long dead and an earlier certification that had been said floated through his mind.  
  
"I own this. I own the army. The same will be for you-when you pry it from my cold dead fingers."  
  
The mercury ball. All had not been lost. With much difficulty and little aid, he hobbled over to Adoni and patted him down completely, feeling for any bulge in his armour. A release of hope parted from his lips in an exasperated breath as his fingers closed around what he was searching for. He lifted it in his clenched hand, unsure with what to do with it. Perhaps in frustration or unconscious motive, he tossed the little ball into the air just enough for him to lift Sparda. While barely maintaining his balance on the good leg, he expelled all the energy in his body in one mighty swing. There was an absence of sound when Sparda's precise edge connected with the mercury ball. It exploded in silvery shards and bathed Dante's face before he fell back into the sands, blinded by a white flash.  
  
Working like a black hole, the light began to suck so mightily with astounding force the immediate area that Dante had to anchor his fingers into the sand to avoid being sucked in by the pull.  
  
Then just as quickly as the raid began, it stopped. All over the world the same fashion the minions were sucked in a backwards blur. In a blue flash, relatively soundless, the Knights vanished. Denizens of the world, cowering and anticipating an attack, opened their eyes after timeless moments to gaze at nothing. Blinking in disbelief at their overzealous imagination brought on by some irrational fear of Armageddon or the Second Coming, they exited their homes robotically, littering the streets searching for evidence to confirm their madness. They were luckily disappointed.  
  
And, as if it were a passing whim, just as the sound of marching hooves diminished to a whisper in each passing moment- the concept of a satanic domination subdued. And the Godless citizens carried on shaking their heads, no more faithless or confused than before.  
  
Dante opened his eyes partially, only to stare at the reassembled mercury ball in his closed fingers. He flopped his head back into the sand and closed his eyes, the effects of sleep weighing down his lids. This time he did not fight fatigue.  
  
  
  
*  
  
Trish awoke in a jolt, her stiff fingers finding the trigger to the shotgun. She looked about the apartment with wide eyes and fluttering pulse. Surprisingly, she had survived the night. Sore from sleeping in a sitting position, she sat up and pressed her palms into her eyes to drown the horribly bright sunlight pouring in through the blinds. "On," she commanded, and the T.V flicked on obediently. She surfed only a few channels when she realised that the same thing was on nearly every channel.  
  
People were giving their personal testimonies regarding last night events, either confirming their renewed strength in their faith or more commonly, economic reasons behind a "terrorist attack." Trish shook her head apathetically. Although this meant Dante had been victorious, did it also mean that saving an ungrateful world had cost him his life?  
  
"Trish," she heard a meek voice call to her from the door. She turned to face the voice, surprised not at the horrible condition of the crimson hero, but at the mere fact that he was alive-barely. On impulse, she sprang to her feet and gripped the handsome devil in her arms, savouring the feel of his battered body as though it would be her last. He made no attempt to return her affection but lazily closed his eyes and leaned his dead weight against her for support. It was somewhat good to feel appreciated.  
  
  
  
*  
  
A muffled grunt parted from Dante's lips as his intensifying grasp held fast to the pillow beneath his head. He was literally strangling it. His teeth gritted together uncomfortably; it had become quite a nasty habit and as a result, he had nearly smoothed the naturally rugged molars in his mouth. He awoke with a startled gasp, staring down in horror at the innocent pillow he had throttled. But he rolled over onto his back as though nothing had transpired. The nightmares were incessant and routine now, and waking up with a death grip on his pillow was expected. He glanced out the window where a pile of snow partially blocked his view of the outside world. For a moment, he lay still trying to catch his breath and regulate his heartbeat. When he found his strength again, he rolled to his unstable feet and hopped off to the bathroom.  
  
As expected, the second the shower head came on a flood of blood bathed his face and body, covering the half devil in a red film. Although he knew better, and although he knew he would only be disappointing himself, he shoved a blood red finger into his mouth to confirm that it was simply water that would never again be clear to him. Tasting it was to remind him that beneath the living nightmare he was sane. No matter what images his mind projected.  
  
  
  
Trish knelt in front of a three-foot Christmas tree, enjoying the sounds of Kenny G's Christmas album while she heavily decorated the little tree. She didn't even have to turn around anymore to know Dante was coming. The metal brace on his leg had characterised the sound of his foot steps; it was a slightly creaking and infrequent step that slowed him terribly and gave him away every time. Trish saw him emerge from the bedroom with a can of silver polish in one hand, and a soft cloth in another. She turned away from him so he would not see her frown.  
  
His slightly handicapped condition seemed to bother her something terrible, but Dante had carried on with his life as though he were oblivious to his fault. He sat down in front of the television, stiffly lifted his leg onto the magazine table and shook his head disgustedly at the music as he smeared some polish onto the brace.  
  
"You're killing me, Trish." He grumbled, vigorously working in a fine lather.  
  
She, ignoring his comment asked, "What do you want for Christmas?" He scoffed mightily, bending his knee somewhat to polish the sides. "My sanity," he replied.  
  
Trish frowned again. She had grown to respect his ability to cope with the psychological changes in his life. She learned that all faucets poured blood and that sometimes, when for no reason he jumped or reached for Ebony and Ivory, it was because Adoni would appear in a flash before him. She learned that every now and again Adoni would show up when Dante was not preoccupied and in his sleep the fight would replay and he would wake up strangling his pillow, certain that it was Adoni whom he strangled. Maybe one day he would be a danger to himself. Maybe one day he would be a danger to her.  
  
"He still there?" She asked uncertainly, looking back at him. She hadn't asked him in quite a while.  
  
"Yep," he responded coolly. He stopped polishing a moment to point off in a corner of the room. "Right there."  
  
Trish looked over but saw nothing and said nothing. She had, on many occasions, tried to fool herself into believing that the 'sickness' had passed. But she was only fooling herself. Dante leaned back into the chair and watched Adoni disappear into a shadow in the corner and he blinked, satisfied that he had gone.  
  
Maybe now he could enjoy the silent company of Trinity who was sitting off to his left. And even though she never interacted with him in any way, it was a hallucination he could live with.  
  
[Due to a tragic accident and limited time, the original ending has been unfortunately deleted. Since then, I have been unmotivated to finish but the story's incompletion irked me. What you have read is a disappointing substitute, mainly to satisfy some sort of dénouement. My apologies all.] -T.A 


End file.
